Parallax
by element78
Summary: Slash, AU- Cas is the photographer at Sam's wedding, and Dean is the overbearing older brother. Naturally, it's hate at first sight.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I have no idea where this came from. Literally, no idea. I decided I was tired of how depressing Supernatural can be, and wanted to write a happy-ish AU fic, and then all the sudden, there was photographer!Cas. Who wears glasses.

The technical definition of 'parallax' is somewhat complicated- as in, only professional photographers will ever understand it. In broader terms, it's the difference between what you see through the viewfinder and what you see in the picture. In other words, what you see is not always what you get.

* * *

><p>The sound pierces through the haze, sending the last misty remnants of dream scattering like fog before the morning sun. He groans, turns away from the noise, but reaches out blindly for it all the same. A few weeks ago Gabriel had reprogrammed his phone for him, setting certain ringtones to certain people. Ever a joker, he had set Rachel's number to the imperial march from Star Wars. It's one Castiel knows better than to ignore.<p>

"What?" he slurs as soon as he's got his phone. He keeps his eyes closed, settles himself down a little more comfortably. He can tell without even looking that he fell asleep at his desk again. At least he wasn't using the keyboard as a pillow- it takes four hours for those marks to fade, which he can say with complete confidence.

"Are you serious?" his sister-slash-sometimes-boss demands irritably. "I knew this would happen. I told you, a thousand times, set your alarm and be here early."

"What?" Cas asks vaguely. He thinks fondly of his bed, but getting up and shuffling over to it sounds like an awful lot of work.

"You're _late,_ Cas! Now get your ass moving!"

"What?" he asks again, a little more alert. He doesn't remember scheduling anything for today.

"Stop saying 'what' and get out here."

"Where is here? And what time is it?" Cas puts his elbows on the desk and pushes himself up, running his free hand over his face. The only clocks in his loft are the one on his cell phone and an odd old wall-hanger, with a hexagonal face instead of the standard circle, whose hours run about four minutes longer than the standard sixty.

"Quarter to nine, and I've texted you the address at least three times."

"Quarter to-" Cas stops, then pulls his cell phone away from his ear and looks at the screen for the date. Before he can bring it back in and start yelling at his sister, though, someone leans over his shoulder and neatly snatches his phone away.

"I'm here," Gabriel says, moving away from Cas as he talks. "Baby brother is moving. Yeah, I'll get it done. Buh-bye."

"Is this that wedding rehearsal?" Cas asks, twisting around to watch Gabriel.

"Yup," his brother says, tossing Cas' cell phone back to him. "And I know, that's not 'til tomorrow, but our dear ballbusting sister has got a serious case of SBD." He drops on the couch, sprawling carelessly out. "She's even got Rafe jumping. I'd do what she says."

Castiel pulls a face and turns forward. He scrubs at his face wearily with both hands and sighs. SBD- Sympathetic Bridezilla Disease, the name Rachel's brothers had given to the occasional bout of bitchiness that descends when she organizes certain weddings.

"This whole wedding planner thing was her idea, her business. Why is she trying to make it a family thing?"

"'Cause she's got a handful of brothers who, from her point of view, aren't doing anything, so they might as well help out," Gabriel drawls, looking boredly out the window.

"I have a career," Cas says sourly, and instantly regrets it.

"Yeah, I know," his brother responds with a lewd grin. "And what prestige you've brought to the family name. Forget the old fogeys who 'accidentally' leave you out of the introductions. I personally am very proud of the pornographer in the family."

"I am not a pornographer," Cas recites duly. They've had this conversation a few times before.

"No, that's right. You just take pictures of incredibly hot, naked people." Gabriel leans back even further, kicks one leg up over the arm of the couch. "By the way, when can I sit in on one of these sessions?"

"I don't let people sit in," Cas replies. "You want in, you're in the shoot. And you are not incredibly hot, and I am not ever seeing you naked."

"I should have gone to college," Gabriel says mournfully. "The things you can get away with when you have a degree… and damn, kid, where did you go last night?"

Cas takes a few wobbly steps forward, then glances down at himself. He's still wearing last night's tux.

"Gallery showing in the Metro area," he says, stretching luxuriously and listening to the gentle pops along his spine. "They showcased a few of my pieces. I had to go."

His plus-one had been Anna, the model in the pictures. She's shy and quiet and has alabaster skin and hair of deep wine red. She's one of Cas' favorites. He's not wild about going to gallery showings, but it had been worth it to see people do a double-take upon seeing the conservatively dressed, quiet Anna, so very different from the girl in the pictures.

"Such a brutal mistress, success," Gabriel says dryly. Cas ignores him, stumbles over to the kitchen to set the coffeemaker to work. He'd gotten back about five hours ago, sincerely regretting his decision to tackle the hour-plus drive that night instead of getting a room at a hotel up in KC. He regrets it even more now.

Cas sighs, rubs at his chin and feels the stubble there. "I need a shower," he mutters.

"You should go like that," Gabriel calls over to him. "Scruffy is sexy." He waggles his eyebrows when Cas looks at him.

"If you weren't my brother, I would totally do you," Cas says, as deadpan as he can manage. "How did you get in here, anyway? I thought I took your key away."

"I made a copy," Gabriel says, faltering just a beat, and Cas groans.

"You picked the lock. Seriously, Gabriel, dad didn't teach you that so you could terrorize your siblings."

"Then get an alarm system," his brother says carelessly. "Better yet, get a dog. Friend of mine has a new litter of cockapoos she's trying to find homes for."

"… a litter of _what_?"

"Cockapoos," Gabriel repeats. "Cocker spaniel and poodle mix. They're really cute."

Cas looks at him, trying to see if this is another one of Gabriel's head-games. His brother looks back guilelessly.

"You are the only straight man I know who can say 'cockapoo' without flinching," Cas mutters after a moment. "And no, Gabriel. No dog."

He's long since gotten used to his brother's scattershot style of conversation, hopping randomly from subject to subject and hauling the other person along for the ride. The trick is to not get lost in the shuffle, and to hold on tight to the salient points.

"Well," Gabriel grunts as he hauls himself to his feet, "my mission is accomplished. I am off to find someplace to hide from the tyrant. If she asks, I'm making a break for Mexico."

"Goodbye, Gabriel," Cas says, feeling very tired. Five minutes of Gabriel is about as much as he can handle, even on a good day. His brother blows him a kiss and leaves.

For a moment, Cas contemplates going to bed. He ultimately decides he doesn't need to deal with the inevitable family drama, however, and instead goes to take a shower.

* * *

><p>Despite the old adage of not mixing family and business, Castiel has always found Rachel a reasonable boss. She's well aware of the fact that her little brother doesn't need the extra income, or the publicity, and is doing it more as a favor than anything else. Her rules are simple- show up on time, look presentable, and for the love of God <em>do not<em> mention what his real field of interest is.

He asked her once what she would do if one of her clients googled him, or had heard of him. She'd looked him dead in the eye and said, "Pretend I didn't know about it, and disown you on the spot."

The address leads Cas to a stately old church on the outer fringes of the city. He spots Rachel's car in the lot and parks several spaces away from it. She's waiting for him in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and eyes narrowed.

"About time," she says, not even waiting for him to reach her before starting in. She runs a critical eye over him. He'd taken Gabriel's warning to heart and had dressed in a button-up shirt and nice new jeans, and so she could find little to criticize. Any disapproval could be easily explained away- he is, after all, a professional photographer, and everyone knows how flaky artists are.

Then her eyes meet his, and her face softens a bit, allowing him a glimpse of his true sister through the raging she-beast this wedding has turned her into. She reaches up and taps a finger against the frame of his glasses.

"You really need contacts," she says. "Your eyes are too gorgeous to hide like this."

"I have contacts," Cas shrugs. "I can't get the focus right with them."

Rachel nods briefly, then turns and heads into the church. Cas follows along like a good little duckling.

"So where did Gabriel skulk off to?" she asks over her shoulder.

"I think he's somewhere in Oklahoma by now," Cas answers.

"And still running, no doubt. I'll find him." She says the last with utter confidence. It's more than a little menacing.

The church is a grand old open-air cathedral. Cas stops halfway down the aisle, leaving Rachel to go steamroll some other poor sucker, and turns on the spot, watching how the shadows move. He's framing shots in his mind, finding the best places to stand, when he hears someone approaching.

It's a small giant of a person, a man with longish dark hair and a youthful look about him, wearing ratty old jeans and an orange plaid flannel shirt. He's nervous and watchful, approaching Cas carefully, as if the photographer is a wild animal preparing to bolt. Cas doesn't need any introductions to identify the groom.

Another one of Rachel's rules, one that he had taken as an insult when she had first hit him with it, was that there would be no flirting with any members of the marriage party, especially not the happy couple themselves. Still, the young man- and he's not as young as he looks, but it's hard to shake off that impression- is looking a little tense, so Cas turns to face him and smiles, a good deal more warm and welcoming than is usual for him. It gives the boy the courage to move forward.

"Sam Winchester," he says, holding out his hand. Cas takes it firmly.

"Castiel Novak," he offers in reply, and can't help the wry twist of amusement as the young man shifts a little, eyebrows rising.

"Another Novak?" he asks, and Cas dips his chin in a nod. "How many of you are there?"

"Five, but you won't meet the oldest," Cas says. "You wouldn't be meeting me, either, but I'm a professional photographer and Rachel prefers talent she can rely on."

"Ah, well." Sam pauses, shoves his hands into his pockets, apparently for a lack of anything better to do with them. Like so many almost-married men Cas has met, he has no idea what to do with himself. He's an important part of the proceedings, in the same way the dummy is an important part of a ventriloquism act: there is no show without him, but nobody really expects him to do anything.

Before things can get too awkward, a blonde girl with a bright smile comes up, slipping her arm through Sam's.

"Hey, babe," she greets him, cooing in that slightly sickening way that young lovebirds have. She looks over at Cas, who has instinctively started studying her face, determining the most flattering lights and angles. Sam takes the hint after a moment.

"Uh, Jess, this is Castiel Novak. He's the photographer."

She gives him a nod and another sunny smile, this one dampened slightly. Cas is staring, and he knows it makes people uncomfortable when he does it, but he's fully switched over to professional mode now.

"Call me Cas," he says, distracted, eyes on her shoes. "Are you wearing heels?"

They both look at her feet, as if to check.

"Tomorrow," he clarifies, then gives a sharp shake of his head. "Saturday, I mean."

Jess frowns at him for a moment. Then understanding dawns, and she spares a quick glance at Sam.

"Yeah, two inches, so about…" She steps away from her fiancé and rises onto her toes slightly, adding an approximate two inches to her height. Cas compares her to Sam. It's not enough, but he'll have to make it work. He certainly isn't going to Rachel and telling her the bride needs new shoes- preferably with four-inch heels- by tomorrow.

"Thanks," he says, because it's the polite thing to do.

"So, is this a family business?" Jess asks.

"No," Cas says, looking her in the eye for the first time. "No, this is Rachel's business. We just help out because she scares us."

Sam barks out a laugh, then snaps his mouth shut tight. Jess looks like she's fighting off a grin. And Rachel, apparently summoned by her name, appears at Cas' elbow.

"He's joking," she assures the couple smoothly. "My brothers help me out because it's family. If they ever needed my help, I would be there." And she gives Cas a look that promises dire things in his immediate future before ushering the pair away, leaving Cas by himself once again.

He turns to face the altar, narrowing his eyes at it. Now that he's seen the happy couple, he has an idea of what he has to work with. After a while, Rachel tracks him down, sitting in the second row pew and writing out notes.

"So what do you think?" she asks, settling in next to him.

"The height difference is just awkward," he says, because it's what matters to him.

"I'm going to assume you had the tact to not say that to them," she says after a moment, and he decides not to take it as an insult. After a moment she reaches out and pats his knee. "You look tired."

"I had a showing in Kansas City last night," he explains. He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes, catches her brief, proud smile. She had been the only one in the family to truly support his career choice- aside from Gabriel's enthusiastic encouragement, which didn't really count- even if she disapproved of the subject matter.

"How did that go?"

"Same as always," he says, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his palm. "Anna was there, I think she collected a phone book's worth of numbers. I was her prop."

"She looks good," Rachel says, somewhat grudgingly. "But only because you saw it in her."

Cas smiles at her, almost shyly. It amazes him, sometimes, how much he needs his older siblings' approval. Rachel gives him a quick smile of her own, here then gone, and stands up.

"Go home, get some sleep. Be here tomorrow at eleven, on time if you can. And wear something… nice."

"Tomorrow, then," Cas says, and she gives him a sharp nod and strides off, Killer Robot Rachel once again on the hunt.

A moment later he finds his own feet and heads out, to see if he can actually make it to his bed this time.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, this chapter got long.

As a side note, I live within thirty miles of Lawrence, so I know the city fairly well. And Cas' apartment actually does exist, or at least did as of '09. My friend lived there for a few years, and I loved the place more than she did.

* * *

><p>Home for Cas is a studio loft above a small clothing store.<p>

Or, at least, it's touted as a clothing store. It's actually more of a clothing store with a side order of a one-stop-shop to surviving college. Its front window is dominated by mannequins wearing four layers of gauzy skirts and scarves made of some fabric that has approximately the same consistency as oxygen. It has tabletop displays of feather earrings and chunky plastic rings and beads galore. They have a shelf near the back, loaded down with crystals and geode slices and books filed under the category of 'alternate religion' and CDs from such mentionables as Yanni and Enya. They're always burning a stick or two of incense back there, and it never fails to make Cas sneeze.

To the left of the store is the part Cas is interested in. There's batteries and disposable cell phones, light bulbs and paper towels and duct tape. There's bread and lunch meat, bags of marshmallows and macaroni and blocks of Velveeta knockoffs. There's a cold case with milk and beer, cans of soup and SpaghettiO's and tuna. There's a display case with every energy drink known to man, and rows of the various cans of Starbucks coffee.

It's a kitschy little store that wouldn't survive anywhere but a college town. If Cas is careful, and doesn't mind bologna sandwiches for lunch three weeks in a row, he can go months without ever setting foot in a proper grocery store.

He pulls into the parking lot and takes up a customer spot, rather than pulling around to the employee lot where he's supposed to park. He figures he spends enough money here to warrant the better parking, and his car has never been ticketed or towed.

The only other car in the lot is some ancient black behemoth. Despite its age, it looks well cared for, save for the red and blue paint scrawled haphazardly across every window. It's still wet enough to be dripping, and he recalls the group of kids he'd seen scattering every which way as he'd turned into the parking lot- all boys, of course, and freshmen from the look of them.

It's late spring, and everyone in Lawrence is ready for school to be over, student or not.

The bells on the door jingle as Cas pushes it open. He takes an immediate left and grabs himself a Mountain Dew and a king size Butterfingers. He peels the wrapper off one end of the candy and takes a bite, stopping on his way to the cash register by the bulletin board. It's covered in band flyers and job notices, like always, although sometimes there's something interesting.

The presumed owner of the newly decorated car is standing at the checkout counter, receiving directions from the cashier. She looks confused, and fumbles the street names- in the era of the GPS, knowing your way around your own town is somehow ridiculous. Cas stands back for a moment and studies the other man, the professional photographer in him automatically going to work. He stands like a soldier, Cas thinks, and moves like a cat- all graceful, measured movements.

Then he turns, and stops as he sees Cas, who doesn't break away from his staring. If anything, he's pulled in further. The man's eyes are green-almost-hazel, sharp and intense in a way a picture cannot properly capture.

"Need something?" the man asks, and Cas blinks and breaks free of the spell.

"No," he says. Then, "Is that your car out there, the big black classic?"

"Yup," the man says with a grin, very much the proud papa.

"Ah," Cas says, and looks past those green eyes to the cashier.

It's Sheila today, a plump blonde girl who blushes a vivid scarlet every time Cas looks at her. It's a common reaction among people who have only recently learned of his occupation. He puts a five on the counter in front of her, since she won't take it from his hand and risk touching him. As she takes it and starts pulling out his change, he rests a hip on the counter and half-turns to face the stranger.

"Hope you're a Jayhawks fan," he adds, and those green eyes narrow, suddenly dangerous. A moment later, the bells clatter once again.

Cas takes his change with a murmured thanks, then heads to the back of the store and through the door marked Employees Only. It's something else he's technically not supposed to do, but like the parking, no one has ever stopped him.

"_Son of a bitch!_"

Past the employee break room are two doors, one directly ahead and one to the left. The one ahead leads to the back parking lot. Cas takes the left, pushing it open with his foot. It's supposed to lock as soon as it latches shut, but it hasn't done so the whole time he's lived here.

The bells on the front door jangle again, much more stridently this time, as the door hits the wall with a _bang_.

Cas is halfway up the stairs by then. He stops and turns back, stopping in the doorway to the store. The man looks even more like a soldier now, a pissed-off soldier on a mission. He catches sight of Cas and reels around with a snarl.

"You think that's funny?" he demands, gesturing in the general direction of his car.

"No," Cas says. He's spent his fair share of hours washing away lewd comments, fraternity names, and sports stats, and is no fonder of it than most people.

Sheila looks back and forth between the two men, looking alarmed and scared and suddenly very small. Cas notices this, relents a little.

"Paint's still wet. It'll come off easy." He goes over to the household supplies corner, grabs a roll of paper towels and tosses it to the other man, then pulls a large bottle of water out of the cold case. "Need help?"

He offers because he knows the man will say no. He doesn't quite know what he'll do if he's actually taken up on it.

"No, I got it," the green-eyed man says, as expected. He's left angry and moved on to sulky, like a child whose favorite toy has been damaged because he was forced to share it. He takes the water from Cas, reluctantly, then heads back over to the counter. Sheila now looks almost like she wants to laugh, and she shoots Cas a surprisingly friendly conspiratorial glance.

He shakes his head a little and heads back through the employees only door, goes to the left and up the stairs. At the landing at the top is a solid, heavy door. Cas unlocks this one and pushes it open with a hip, then heads up the final half-set of stairs and into his loft.

It's an open floor plan, one big living room with a kitchen separated only by a counter. Two bedrooms, and only one bathroom, but that one bathroom is bigger than the average guest room in a proper house, and that had been the feature that had truly sold Cas on this place.

The north-facing wall is one long panoramic window. The desk, with his computer, is tucked into the northwest corner. He hits the power button and finishes off his candy bar as the machine powers up, gaze focused on the sky outside.

Finally he gets up and goes into the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink. There's a stack of sponges there, the large neon-colored variety typically used in fundraising roadside car washes. Gabriel gets them in bulk with the specific intention of soaking them down and throwing them at the panoramic window while standing in the parking lot- his loving way of letting his little brother know he's been working too hard. Cas fishes out one that is an offensive pink color and runs it under the tap for a minute. Then he heads into his bedroom and over to his window.

The sponge lands with a _splat_, dead center on the hood of the black behemoth. The man barks out a curse a sailor would be proud of. By the time he looks up, Cas' window is closed.

As always, the day after a showing Cas is flooded with e-mails. He sorts through it, separating the crap from the legit, then files both away into the appropriate folders. He's just not in the mood for the business half of his job right now. Instead, he pulls up his latest shoot and opens the first picture up to full-size, taking full advantage of the huge, ridiculously expensive monitor setup his siblings had pulled together to get him last Christmas.

He's sorting through the array, picking out his initial favorites, when his cell phone chimes with an incoming text. It doesn't surprise him in the least to see it's from Anna- college students these days will go to great lengths to avoid actual conversation.

_Last night was great. Dinner tonight, my treat?_

Anna, like so many of his female models, has told him repeatedly that she only feels comfortable modeling for him because he's gay. He's learned not to take that as the insult it actually, if unintentionally, is. To Anna, the invitation is harmless- as far as she's concerned, he's basically asexual.

_Can't. Doing a wedding thing for R. She owns me for the next two days._

_Well, I seriously owe you one. Call when you're free._

Before Cas can formulate a reply, there's a familiar, wet-sounding _whap_. He looks up and finds the sponge, mangled and discolored, adhered to the glass a third of the way across the panoramic window. As he watches, it starts to slowly slime its way downward.

From below the window, in the customer parking lot, a powerful old engine kicks over with a coughing roar. Cas rises to his feet and steps around the desk, watching as the beast swings a quick left out of the parking lot onto Massachusetts- which would have been Main Street, if the city planner had had less imagination- and disappears down the road.

The sponge loses its grip and falls off the window, leave a halo of purple-tinted water where it had hit.

For some insane, unknown reason, when he goes down to the parking lot to retrieve the sponge, Cas can't help smiling.

* * *

><p>"You do realize what this is, right? You're picking sides. Clearly, you like Rachel better than me."<p>

Cas rolls his eyes but doesn't look away from his laptop screen. The rehearsal starts in an hour and he needs to get this done.

"You've always been my favorite, Gabriel," he says with as much irony as he can pack into the words.

"Right. That's why you've betrayed me." The older man heaves a wounded sigh. "I thought I knew you, Cas. I thought you were better than this."

"Better than what?" a new voice asks, and Gabriel turns on the intruder with an uncharacteristically vicious snarl.

"You I expect it from," he spits, then storms off. Cas keeps his eyes down, but watches Gabriel's reflection in the screen as he leaves. After a moment the newcomer shifts into place, kneeling down to meet Cas' reflected gaze.

"Hello, Castiel," Raphael says, voice ponderous like thunder. He tilts his head a bit to indicate their recently departed brother. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," Cas admits evenly. Raphael is second oldest of the Novak clan, four years Cas' senior. He's not quite as distant as the oldest, Michael, but somehow the chasm between them seems all the broader for it- Michael is thirteen years older than Cas, and has a military career that keeps him in other countries for half the year and in Washington DC for the other half. It doesn't feel like a failure to barely be on speaking terms with a brother who wanders the world. To have the same difficulties with a brother who lives in the same town is less understandable.

Before Cas can explain Gabriel's little snit, Raphael glances over his shoulder, then stands and steps aside. A moment later Rachel's image appears.

"Have you seen him?" she demands. There's a brief pause, while her brothers try to figure out who she's talking to and what she means. Seeing this, she taps Cas on the shoulder. "Gabriel. Have you seen him today?"

"Is this an actual question, or is this about the shirt?" he counters, still not looking up from his laptop.

"It's about the outfit in general, actually," she says dryly. "Also, he just came over and told me I have corrupted you, and he holds me fully responsible."

Raphael snorts.

"My car wouldn't start this morning," Cas says evenly. "So I called Gabriel for a ride. I take no responsibility for the state of dress he's in."

"You sound like an infomercial disclaimer," Rachel says flatly.

"Also-" and here Cas fishes a set of car keys out of his pocket, holds it up by the key ring. "-this is probably what he means by the corruption thing."

There's a long moment of silence. Then Raphael, sounding seriously impressed, says, "You stole his keys?"

"He was doing that," Cas mimes throwing the keys into the air, "tossing thing. One time, he missed."

"All right," Rachel says, shooing her older brother aside. "My keys are in my purse. I didn't expect Gabriel to be… presentable," and Cas can hear her sneer, "so I brought a change of clothes for him. Do _not_ let him leave."

After Raphael leaves, there's a few moments of silence. Cas listens to the bustle of the people around them. He's sitting on the stair leading up to the altar, laptop balanced precariously on one knee. Initially it had been to upload the pictures of the church he'd taken right after getting there, but it had become a prop, giving him something to focus on that isn't a whiny sibling.

"You know, Cas, sometimes I find myself thinking you can't actually be one of us, you're just too sweet. And then you go and do something completely evil and prove me wrong." Rachel says thoughtfully. Cas blinks and finally looks away from the laptop, frowning up at his sister.

"Sweet?" he echoes. That's one he hasn't heard before.

Raphael reappears, an unhappy Gabriel in tow, and Cas tries not to grimace at the sight of his brother. Gabriel hadn't planned on losing his keys and getting stranded here, and so was wearing a pair of ratty old jeans that were more hole than fabric, purple plastic flip-flops, and an obnoxiously yellow shirt with Spongebob's face plastered across his chest. They head out to the parking lot, Gabriel giving Cas a betrayed look as he goes.

"I need a favor," Rachel says. She smooths down her skirt and settles awkwardly next to him, legs tucked up close. "The brother broke up."

Cas stares at her. She does this, sometimes- forgets he can't read her mind, doesn't know the second half of sentences like that unless she spells them out for him.

"Sam- the groom- his older brother," she clarifies. "Broke up, about a week ago. Apparently it's a very on-again-off-again thing, you know how those are. They're very good at the whole breaking up thing, which means a lot of yelling and door slamming and whatever. The makeup sex has to be incredible."

"Did you bother to get his name, or did you skip straight to his sex life?" Cas asks blandly.

"He seems like one of those idiots who would go on an anti-woman crusade, and drag his brother along, and get him drunk enough to do something stupid tonight and poof-" she waves a hand, "-no wedding tomorrow."

"And you want me to do what?"

"About that, nothing. I just need you to get someone to fill in. I'm not having the wedding party thrown off because Mister Maturity couldn't behave himself for a few days." Rachel scowls briefly at nothing in particular. Cas gently snaps his laptop shut and puts in on the floor beside him. 'Mister Maturity' must have done something unspeakable to offend Rachel this thoroughly, this quickly.

"So I need someone young, and reasonably attractive, and available today and tomorrow, and I trust your taste more than Gabriel's," Rachel finishes.

"I can call Anna," Cas offers, and Rachel considers. She's met Anna before, and mostly approves of her, which is something of a minor miracle.

"Make sure she understands, no talking about her supplemental income," that being her modeling work for Cas, "and no starting anything. I'm going to have enough trouble there with the brother." She stands up, brushes her skirt off and starts off. She stops and turns back after three steps. "Dean."

Cas, phone in his hand and already ringing, looks up in confusion.

"His name. The brother. Dean."

And she's off again, apparently very pleased with herself for taking note of such an unimportant detail. Cas watches her for a moment, then shifts his attention back to his phone when he hears Anna answer.

"Anna," he says in greeting, and falters, trying to find the best way to ask this.

"Hey, Cas," she says cheerfully. "What's up?"

"I need a favor," he drags out, slowly, almost painfully. Amazing how this girl regularly takes her clothes off for him, and he's only now feeling like he's taking advantage of her.

"Anything. Just name it," she says, and he winces.

When he tells her, she laughs. He chooses to take it as a good sign.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I have never been married, never been to a wedding- well, not a traditional wedding, the one wedding I've gone to was Hawaiian themed and almost called off because of a missing cat- and so am totally playing blind here. I have bugged friends and family with various wedding-related questions, leaving them just a little bit baffled, and have filled in the rest of the gaps myself. So if something doesn't make sense, that's why.

Also, for more Parallax goodness, go read my other fic, Changing Filters. It'll probably end up as a drabble dump, but for now it has one chapter- Cas turns thirty, and Gabriel proves he's an awesome older brother, so long as he's not _your_ older brother.

* * *

><p>The ultimate problem with weddings, Cas has long ago decided, is that they're boring. And exclusive- he knows none of these people, except the ones he's related to, and they move and talk around him without ever directly acknowledging him. It feels like the one party he'd gone to in college.<p>

So while he would never do something to deliberately sabotage the ceremony, he isn't exactly inclined to go out of his way to makes things run smoother, either. Watching his sister do the frantic dashing thing and playing the Flight of the Bumblebee in his head as soundtrack is the closest thing to entertainment he's going to get all day.

Anna shows up about twenty minutes after he calls her, and sits next to him, for which he is almost pitifully grateful.

"Your brother still has the Corvette?" she half-asks as she sits down. He's been shuffled around, politely asked to move out of the way a half dozen times, and has now taken up a place on a bench in the church's entryway.

"My brother will be buried in the Corvette," Cas says dryly. A Corvette is a somewhat unusual car choice for a college janitor- rather like a ball gown is an unusual choice of beachwear- and Gabriel is desperately proud of it. He calls it the one concession from the lifestyle he ought to be living, but isn't willing to work hard enough to have the money for.

"I thought he'd have gotten it impounded by now," she says. "Hasn't he lost his license once already?"

"Long time ago," Cas agrees distantly, frowning at the door. He'd heard a car pull up outside, and there had been something familiar about the rumbling growl of its engine.

"I already ran into Rachel, by the way," Anna continues, not realizing he's distracted. "She says you'll introduce me to the brother."

He blinks, looks at her. She meets his gaze and correctly interprets his confusion.

"You have no idea who the brother is, do you?"

"I know how to find out," he says, grabbing his laptop bag and rising. "Come on."

* * *

><p>He'd gotten the grand tour yesterday from the priest, who had recognized his name as angelic and spent the day probing subtly into Cas' religious background. Like so many men of the cloth, he hadn't quite seemed to know what to do with the knowledge he gained- that Cas was the son of Reverend Jackson Novak, who had found religion during his third stint in prison.<p>

Gabriel tells the whole story far better than Cas. He has the flair for it, the natural sense of dramatic timing. But he can never seem to stop grinning over the punchline he knows is coming. Cas, master of the poker face, just hits people right between the eyes with it.

Going off memory from yesterday, Cas makes his way back to the back room used as the bride's dressing room. A young blonde girl is sitting on a plastic folding chair reading a magazine. She looks up as they approach.

Bottle blonde, Cas decides instantly. He's pretty good at spotting them. That sort of thing doesn't really work in nude photography. He recognizes her status as gargoyle and flat-out ignores her, walking right up to the door. He times his knock to when the girl opens her mouth to say something, effectively cutting her off, and never looks directly at her.

The door is cracked open and another girl peers out at him, eyes narrowing dangerously as she views the male interloper.

"I need to talk to Jess," Cas says, offering nothing else. For a moment the girl looks about ready to say no. Then another hand catches the door and pulls it open all the way, revealing the lucky bride herself.

She's wearing a simple white dress, not her wedding gown but the day's stand-in, and strappy high-heeled sandals. A simple girl with a simple concept of beauty, and Cas is grateful for it- there's no part of this job he hates more than trying to make a blinged-out bride look like something human.

She's also nervous, he can see clear as day. He'd expected it , had known she was hiding back here because it happens every time. He also knows he's next to useless in the whole best-day-of-your-life speech, might actually inflict damage with his cynical views of marriage, and so says nothing.

"Cas," Jess greets him, then flicks her gaze to Anna. She's twisting her engagement ring around her finger and Cas finds himself hypnotized by the motion until Anna- familiar with his little mental sidetrips- digs an elbow into his ribs.

"Yes, sorry," he blurts. "This is Anna. She's Dean's date for the day."

"Oh," Jess says, meeting Anna's gaze and smiling in unsteady relief, as if she isn't sure this is good news.

"I'm supposed to introduce them," Cas continues. "But I have no idea who he is."

"You can't really miss him," Jess says wryly. "He'll be wearing a leather jacket and biker boots."

Some small alarm goes off in the back of Cas' mind.

"He's a jerk," the blonde from outside agrees, leaning over a little in order to participate in the conversation. "The only thing he cares about is that car."

The alarm gets louder.

"Oh, well, that… sounds…" Anna trails off weakly, glancing at Cas nervously, obviously forgetting he knows nothing about the man.

Cas, for his part, is remembering the growl of the car he'd heard pulling in minutes ago, and the leather jacket on the green-eyed man with the big black classic. He closes his eyes, bracing himself for the worse.

"What kind of car?"

"I don't know, some big forty-year-old-"

"'67 Chevy Impala," Jess' friend, the one who had opened the door, says, and everything goes quiet for a moment as they all look at her. She blushes a little, but lifts her chin defiantly. "What, a girl's not allowed to be into cars?"

"I should go," Cas says, gesturing vaguely to the hallway, then shakes his head when Anna makes as if to go with him. "You should probably stay here."

"I thought you were going to-"

"I'm sure," Cas interrupts, gently as he can, "that you have plenty to talk about. Clothes, and… whatever."

He's gay, not metrosexual. Whatever goes into making women look good, he doesn't know and doesn't particularly care.

"Yeah. Clothes and… whatever." Anna pins him with a knowing look, even as she nods sagely.

"We'll run into Dean sometime," Jess agrees, as the other two look back and forth between Cas and Anna in confusion. There's more going on here than is being said aloud, they know- something in the subtext, lost to them due to lack of familiarity. "I can do the introducing, if you want."

"Thank you," Cas says, wholeheartedly, and beats a hasty retreat from that den of estrogen.

* * *

><p>He spends the majority of the day avoiding two brothers- the groom's, and his own.<p>

Dean Winchester, as it turns out, is indeed the green-eyed man from the day before. He announces his presence with his loud and buoyant personality, and stops to flirt with two women in five minutes before greeting his little- in the loosest sense of the word- brother with a manly hug and a fist pounding between Sam's shoulders.

Sam looks conflicted over having his brother there, in a way Cas recognizes and empathizes with completely- he's an idiot, but he's family. Cas has one of those in his life.

Said idiot brother is sulking around, a massive chip on his shoulder that he's all too glad to inflict on others. He's been forced into nice clothes, ordered around by his sister, and has no opportunity for escape- Cas doesn't need to actually see Gabriel to know the mood he's in, and spends the day actively hiding from him. That this means avoiding an encounter with Dean is only a bonus.

It's only inevitable, though, that something gives- he's hiding from two people in one building, sooner or later he's bound to slip up somewhere.

"Cas," he hears Sam call in greeting, about ten minutes before the rehearsal in truth starts, and Cas cringes at the sound of two people approaching. He turns, catches sight of Dean with a fake, social-nicety-requirement smile pasted on his face. It drops like a ton of bricks as soon as he gets a good look at the photographer.

"Hey, Dean this is-" is as far as Sam gets.

"You!" Dean barks, sounding scandalized, and Cas refrains from sighing or rolling his eyes.

"Hello, Dean," he says blandly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Nice to properly meet you."

"How…?" Sam begin, bewildered, looking back and forth.

"He painted my car," Dean snaps accusingly.

"Was in the general vicinity after his car was painted," Cas corrects.

"Then he threw a sponge at me."

"I believe this is one of those 'you had to be there' things," Cas says to Sam, who's staring at his brother in open disbelief.

"He threw a sponge at you?" he echoes. "Next you'll be telling me he was mean to you."

"I was, a little bit," Cas allows, mostly because he's getting a kick out of watching this. Gabriel and Dean were cast from the same general mold, and if Gabriel were ever in Dean's place, Cas would ride him as hard as Sam is now. The problem is that Gabriel is even more shameless than Dean, and to the best of Cas' knowledge, has never actually been embarrassed by anything.

"His friends fucked up my car," Dean says, openly hostile now. Sam looks at Cas expectantly. Cas shrugs.

"I had nothing to do with it."

"Well," Sam says, in a _this turned out better than I could have hoped_ sort of way. "Dean, this is Castiel Novak, the photographer. Cas, this is Dean, my brother. Try not to be too mean to him. He's sensitive."

"So I see," Cas says gravely, fighting off a smile. Sam doesn't even try to hide his grin, just pats Dean gently on the shoulder and walks away. Dean whaps him on the back of the head as he goes and Sam lets it go, obviously accepting it as the price for future blackmail.

Then Dean and Cas are alone. Cas watches Dean sink into himself, clearly not knowing what to do next, and again fights back a smile.

"They weren't my friends, they were students," he says after a long awkward pause. "I don't know who they were."

"Oh, yeah, that makes it all better," Dean says sourly. Cas tilts his head to the side, studies the man before him, and wonders who wrote that cosmic rule that the cute ones must always be jerks.

Then the door opens and Gabriel, for once looking like the thunderous archangel he is named for, appears.

"Rehearsal's starting in five," he says. "Rachel says move your ass."

Rachel says nothing of the sort, Cas thinks, except possibly to her brothers on a really bad day, but keeps his mouth shut. Dean tosses Gabriel a sarcastic salute as he leaves.

"Rehearsal dinner," Cas says when his brother turns a narrow-eyed glare on him. "Free food. Then you're done."

"You people all think I'm so easy," Gabriel snaps. Cas merely crouches down and digs out the pack of gummy worms in his laptop case, stowed away for this exact reason.

For a long moment Gabriel leaves him hanging, gummy worms held out as a potentially rejected olive branch. Then the older man melts a little, snatches away the plastic bag, then catches Cas' hand and pulls him back to his feet.

" 'Move your ass' means you too," he says, without the snarl this time, and Cas knows all is forgiven.

* * *

><p>The rehearsal is long and boring. It takes about three tries to get everything right, during which Cas counts the bricks in the wall and individual glass pieces in the stained glass window above the altar.<p>

Dean entertains himself by making faces at Sam's back. Cas feels Sam is a far braver man than he had guessed, allowing his brother to act as his best man. He manages to get a few good shots of some of the better faces Dean pulls.

Anna and Dean have apparently hit it off, which bothers Cas for reasons he doesn't care to examine too closely. During a five-minute break, while Rachel and Jess and the hapless priest hash out a few details, the two sit in the first row pew and talk, heads close. Cas tries not to stare at the way Anna's hair curls on Dean's shoulder.

"Don't," Gabriel says, gnawing on a yellow-and-green gummy worm.

"Don't what?" Cas counters.

"Don't go there. Nothing but pain down that road, kiddo."

"I know what I'm doing," Cas says, feeling himself bristling. Gabriel just gives him a _look_.

"This can't end well," he mutters, sounding like he's talking to himself, and Cas can't help but agree.

* * *

><p>At the restaurant after the rehearsal, Cas asks for and gets his own small table, set up in near the doorway of the private party room. It takes about four seconds before Rachel steers Gabriel over and pushes him into the other seat, leaving them slightly separated from the wedding party.<p>

Gabriel looks about ready to go off on her- she'd driven them both here, not trusting Gabriel with his own car, and thus guaranteed herself the Least Favorite Sibling spot for the day- so Cas pulls out his laptop. He uploads the rehearsal photos, then flips back a few days in the memory card's history and pulls up a shoot he'd done with a new model.

His brother, naturally, is all too happy to pull his chair around and flip through the roll. His eyebrows wing upwards when he hits a particularly interesting set.

"Wow," he says, stopping on one in particular. Cas notes the file number. "Are those-"

"Scales," Cas says, since Gabriel appears to have stalled out. "Her roommate is a theater major, and apparently had nothing better to do."

The model in question is of Jamaican heritage, with skin dark as coal. She had stood patiently, suffering through her roommate outlining a scale pattern on her skin from neck to knee. The paint had been iridescent, black base that shone gold in the right light. It could have turned out cheesy, and four hours of outlining would have gone to waste, but instead it had come out perfectly.

"Very dragon-esque," Gabriel says. He clicks over to the next shot and tilts his head, studying the picture. "I see the actual product so rarely, I guess I forget…"

"I'm not a pornographer," Cas says, with long-suffering patience.

The party at the long table is focused on itself, and almost nobody notices them hunched over the laptop. After a minute or two Anna appears over Gabriel's shoulder, watching for a moment, then returns to her seat. She's back a moment later, chair in tow, and Cas can't help but feel somehow triumphant in having dragged her away.

He catches sight of Rachel approaching about when they're getting their entrees, and with the tapping of one button pulls up the solitaire game he keeps running at all times for just this reason. She's not in any way fooled. It's just to show her he's paying attention.

"I need you," she says to him, ignoring the other two and the laptop, then catches him by the arm and almost pulls him right out of his chair. He goes with her without complaint, mostly because half the other table is watching and he really doesn't want to make her look bad.

"See?" she says, as soon as she reaches the heart of the table, where the Jess and Sam are sitting. "He'd be delighted to go."

Cas doesn't really do 'delighted' well, especially not when his emotions are running more towards 'suspicious and alarmed'. "Go where?"

"Dean missed my bachelor party," Sam says in an apologetic tone, and Cas instantly knows where this is going. "So the two of us were going to go out tonight."

"It sounds like a brotherly thing-" Cas begins.

"No, don't worry. You're not interrupting anything." Sam looks a little desperate.

Cas closes his eyes for a moment. Then he leans over to his sister and says, very quietly, "I thought this wasn't my problem."

"Yeah, well, I can't go. The only choices I have are you or Gabriel." Rachel answers, just as quietly.

And Gabriel isn't an option. Not if the idea is to keep these two out of trouble.

Rachel catches his wrist. "I'll owe you," she says, almost pleading, and Cas looks inexorably at Dean. He's blank, for once, as difficult to read as Castiel himself.

It only serves to make the flinch more obvious when Cas shrugs and says, "Sure, I'll go."

"Like watching the Hindenburg," Gabriel say, when Cas returns to their table. "It's goin' down and no one can stop it."

"Thank you," Cas says dryly. "That helps."

"Just sayin'." He takes a roll from the bread basket, points it at Cas. "This can only end in pain. And when it does, remember this conversation."

Cas gives him a dark look, then focuses on his food and tries not to think about how, if Gabriel has become the voice of reason, things have gone horribly wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Some chapters wanna fight. Some chapters I erase the whole damn thing about four times over. Some chapters I have to go scream into a pillow. This was not one of them. I sat down to outline it- all I have on the main story outline is 'go out and get drunk, warm up to each other a little'- and bam, the whole chapter just rolls right out. I was like, wow, I hit three thousand words already?

This is a little early, since the last one was up later than I liked. Also, I have no idea what my schedule's gonna look like the next week or so, due to the holidays, so I'm putting this up in case it takes a while to get the next one out.

Just in case I'm too late to say it next chapter, happy holidays, people!

* * *

><p>The Impala's roomier than Cas had expected, which is good, since he's shuffled without hesitation into the back seat. Just him and the Winchester boys, he thinks wryly, and it takes every ounce of self-control he possesses to not keep sliding right across the seat and out the other door.<p>

As if reading his thoughts- and he's never quite ruled that possibility out- Rachel opens the other door and bends over to look him in the eye.

"Do not let them do any- forget that. Do not let _Sam_ do anything stupid. If the brother manages to get himself arrested or otherwise detained, well…" She glances briefly over at the Winchesters. Sam has stopped to say goodbye to Jess, probably receiving a similar but less vindictive lecture as Cas. Dean hovers awkwardly between his brother and his car, obviously trying not to intrude on either conversation.

"I thought the best man was somewhat important," Cas says. Rachel scoffs.

"He's replaceable. The groom is not. Just…" she sighs, rubs a hand over her face. "Don't let it get out of control, okay? And don't drink anything yourself. "

"Make sure Anna gets home," Cas orders, then gestures sharply to his laptop case, slung casually over Rachel's shoulder. "And take care of that. Plug it in when you get home."

"Call me if things start going south," Rachel counters. "Me, not Gabriel. And if he happens to 'coincidentally' run into you tonight, get rid of him. Got it?"

"I'm not stupid," Cas informs her. She doesn't look convinced, but before she can reinforce any of her orders, Dean makes way over. Rachel departs with a farewell to her brother and heads over to her car.

Dean drops himself into the driver's seat and Cas feels the car tremble. He's never ridden in a vehicle older than he is, and isn't sure he's going to care for the experience.

"You know where this is?" Dean asks, twisting around to hand Cas a flyer that looks like it's been pulled off a bulletin board. It's an advertisement for one of the many local bands, playing at a bar every Friday.

"Yes," Cas says warily, fairly positive he's going to regret this.

"Great!" Dean chirps, then sticks his head back out his door. "Hey, Sammy, c'mon!"

Sam eases his long frame into the car, meeting Cas' gaze in the rearview mirror and offering him an apologetic look. Clearly, he knows what's coming.

"Got ourselves a destination," Dean says, as he starts up the engine. From inside the car, the scratchy thunderous growl seems even louder. It sounds like power.

They're out of the parking lot and starting on a right turn onto the road when Cas' brain kicks over and he sits up a bit.

"Wait, turn left here," he says, and Dean wrenches the beast around into a wavering left turn into a lane that isn't quite empty. Cas braces himself for impact but none comes; instead, there's the squealing of tires and a honking horn and someone yelling obscenities out their window.

"Sorry," he offers after a moment's silence.

"This is gonna be fun, I can tell already," Sam mutters.

* * *

><p>For someone who listens to Metallica and ACDC, Cas can certainly see how this band would appeal to Dean. It's loud rock and has no interest whatsoever to Cas, who finds a table as far from the stage as he can get. Sam joins him quickly enough. Dean they lose track of within ten seconds.<p>

"I'm sorry my brother is being such an ass," Sam half-yells during one of the pauses between songs. "He's not normally like this."

"So I'm just special then," Cas replies, and Sam can only shrug.

The first band packs up and the second one rolls out. Cas can already feel his head pounding, and shoots Sam a desperate look. Thank god, he's observant.

"I think we've had enough," he says. "I'll go find Dean, if you want to-"

The lead guitarist picks out a small tune in testing the sound system, and the crowd, recognizing the melody, erupts in cheers.

"I'll wait outside," Cas yells, and bolts for the door like the coward he is.

He's almost to the Impala when he instinctively reaches for his keys, stops when he remembers he shouldn't have them- then freezes when his fingers encounter the jagged edge of a key. He hooks a finger through the key ring and pulls it out, staring at it in confusion. Then he pulls out his cell phone.

Gabriel's phone rings through to voicemail. Cas, feeling a little guilty and more than a little nervous, listens to his brother's greeting message.

"I still have your keys," he says when he's prompted to talk. He glances over to the bar, sees Sam and Dean heading his way. "Look, Gabriel, I'm sorry. It was an accident." He pauses again. "Don't do this, please."

He slides the keys back into his pocket and starts to take the last few steps to the Impala, when he gets a text.

_No worries, got a spare set. See you around._

Something must show on his face, for Sam pauses and looks at him. "Bad news?" he asks, carefully, not sure he wants to get involved.

"My brother's being a pain," Cas says darkly, tucking his phone away. "I have his keys, so he's ignoring me."

There's a brief pause, and Cas realizes that might need further explanation.

"He gave me a ride this morning," he explains. "I took his keys so he couldn't bail out, and I forgot to give them back. And now I have no way to get home."

"That's okay, we'll drop you off," Sam says with a casual shrug.

"That's not…" Cas begins. He can remember, clear as day, walking back into his loft, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter and pulling out the phone book to look up the number for a mechanic. He'd called Gabriel and spent the next couple of minutes reading ads, then had to run downstairs when the Corvette's familiar horn had blared. He'd locked only the bottom lock, forgetting the deadbolt, and left his keys sitting on the counter. They'd been in the church parking lot by the time he'd remembered. It was, in fact, the main reason he'd stolen Gabriel's keys- to guarantee he had a way back into his loft, via his lockpicking brother.

"I can't get in without him," Cas says.

"What, he's got a spare? You just said you have his keys," Dean points out. For a long moment Cas tries to find the best way to answer that- he's not all that good a liar, when it comes right down to it, he's far better at avoidance- then gives up.

"I was going to have him pick the lock," he says, resigned.

"Dude, your brother picks locks?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"He breaks in about once a month," Cas confirms.

Dean laughs. It makes him look younger, and even almost friendly.

"Glad to know our family's not the only weird one," he says as he unlocks the car and opens his door.

"We'll think of something," Sam says reassuringly to Cas.

It somehow sounds vaguely ominous.

* * *

><p>The next bar they find is chosen by democracy- they all chip in opinions, and Dean ignores the other two and goes on his merry way.<p>

It's not as loud or crowded as Cas is expecting- they're in the heart of the off-campus housing district, but finals week is looming and has got even the most lazy student worried. There's just enough people to be busy, just enough to be a comfortable bar atmosphere. Cas keeps a wary eye out on the students around them. He's already spotted and waved away at least three people that he knows.

Dean sets himself up with a neverending supply of beer. Sam gets himself a bottle or two as well. Cas sticks to water, which earns him a patronizing look from the bartender.

"I'm sorry if I'm putting a damper on the evening," Cas says. To Sam, of course. To Dean, he's doing it on purpose.

"I'm glad you're here," Sam replies. "My brother and I, we aren't…" He pauses, sighs, takes a sip of beer. "We don't have much in common," he finishes finally.

It sounds like a sensitive topic, like Sam regretted that simple fact, so Cas steers the conversation away. They're talking about Sam's honeymoon- Hawaii, which Cas thoroughly approves of- when Dean finally returns to their table. He's got a shot glass of tequila and a lime wedge.

"You two need to loosen up," he tells them. "This is supposed to be a party, remember?"

"I already had a party, remember?" Sam shoots back. Dean merely smirks at him before tossing back his tequila.

If asked later, Cas wouldn't be able to say why he did it. It was just something about the look on Dean's face.

He gets up, leaving the brothers Winchester to gape after him, and heads over to the bartender. She looks stunned by his order but happily supplies his request when he utters the magic words of 'keep the change'.

He returns to the table, thumping the bottle of scotch down and sits in his seat. He takes the bottle and fills up the shot glass he'd secured, tossing it straight back without flinching. Then he slides the bottle over to Dean, who catches it neatly.

"Your turn," he says calmly, not remotely bothered by the liquid burning running down his throat.

They both stare at him for a moment.

"You could be in serious trouble," Sam stage-whispers to his brother, who has something dangerously close to respect in his eyes.

Dean merely takes the bottle and the spare glass Cas had brought and mimics Cas' actions precisely. With a glint of challenge in his eyes, he slides the bottle back to Cas.

"After you," he shoots back neatly, and fast as that, the game is on.

* * *

><p>The bottle had only been half-full, so when they run out, they're only just bordering on drunk. The mood is relaxed, though, and friendly, and Cas can almost forget that Dean is an ass who probably humps his car when no one else is looking.<p>

Dean goes and gets himself another tequila shooter. Sam has long since stopped imbibing, and Cas once again goes back to water.

The conversation meanders around in any given direction. Cas mostly listens, long-ingrained habit telling him to keep his mouth shut. He could probably spend a night out and never once pay for a drink with stories about his family- Gabriel certainly does- but something keeps him quiet. He's never liked broadcasting family history to tipsy strangers.

Somehow they make their way around to cars, and Cas is explaining Gabriel's Corvette- "He took it out for a test drive in Arizona and forgot to return it. I think they're still looking for him somewhere in Phoenix."- when the subject of income comes up.

"So how much does a wedding photographer make, anyways?" Dean asks, and Cas snorts.

"I'm not a wedding photographer," he says sourly. "I'm doing my sister a favor. I hate weddings."

Long pause. Cas looks over at Sam.

"No offense."

"None taken," Sam says with a grin. "So what is your real field, then?"

Cas is just drunk enough that he doesn't even hesitate to tell them.

Dean inhales his mouthful of lime and chokes.

* * *

><p>There's a man standing just outside the door as they leave. He might as well be wearing a sign saying Off Duty Police Officer. Sam duly informs him that it's been well over an hour since he had anything to drink, somehow looking very young and sincere.<p>

"Nude photography. Totally awesome." Dean says as they walk over to the car.

"Can't tell Rachel I told you, she'd kill me," Cas tells them.

"Can I- what's it called- can I sit in sometime?" Dean asks, looking at Cas with big hopeful eyes.

"No," Cas says, silently thanking Gabriel for giving him so much practice at answering this question. "I don't work for an audience. You want to sit in, you're in the picture."

"Okay," Dean says with a shrug, and Cas and Sam both stop dead and stare at him. He looks back, briefly confused, visibly replaying the conversation in his head. He blanches after a moment, obviously realizing how that 'okay' had sounded. "Okay, as in oh, okay, I get it. No audience, I get it. Stop looking at me," he snaps at his brother, who looks on the verge of laughter.

"I don't want to know," Sam tells them.

As they reach the Impala, Cas pulls out his phone and calls Gabriel. He scowls in annoyance when there's no answer. Leaving another message is admitting defeat, however, so he hangs up without waiting for the beep.

He can see the two brothers exchange a look over the car as he swings his door open. There's silent sibling communication going on there.

"Do you have someplace to go? Someone to crash with?" Sam asks after a long moment.

Cas runs down his mental list of acquaintances, which doesn't take long. After a moment he grunts.

"Just drop me off at your hotel," he says, nodding to Dean. "I'll get a room." He then ducks into the Impala, thus missing the next silent conversation. After a moment the front doors open.

"Dude, don't be stupid," Dean says. "I got a nice fancy room, couch and all."

Which Cas figures is some sort of offer. He waits, tilting his head when the silence continues. After a moment Dean gets uncomfortable, shifts a bit and clears his throat.

"If you're not worried I'm some sorta serial killer, that is," he adds, which Cas translates as 'I don't mind'.

"I think, if you did turn out to be a murderer, killing me before tomorrow would only be doing me a favor," he says blandly, and Sam snorts.

"Hotel then?" he asks.

"You're not taking my car," Dean says. "You can walk back to your apartment."

"It's four miles, and neither of you are in any shape to drive."

"I'm not bummin' a ride tomorrow! And last time you had my baby without me, you douched her up."

"Installed an mp3 jack, Dean, and I'll only have her without supervision for five minutes. Then I'll be home, and trust me, I'll have more important things to focus on than your car."

Cas closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the window, content to let the brothers duke it out.

* * *

><p>Dean does indeed have a fancy hotel room, with a separate room for the entertainment center. The couch looks vaguely uncomfortable, its cover some scratchy-looking burlap-like material, but Cas can sleep just about anywhere. He drops his jacket on the back of the armchair and sinks down on the couch, letting his head fall back with a tired groan.<p>

"This was a bad idea," he tells the ceiling, meaning the evening as a whole. There's a long pause before Dean answers.

"Uh, yeah," he mutters, sounding like someone's just poked him. "Probably. But hey, how many times is my baby brother gonna get married?"

"Hopefully just the once," Cas says idly, listening as Dean heads past him and into the bedroom. There's a few moments of shuffling, then a bundled up ball of fabric flies in front of him, landing with a soft _whump_ on the floor beyond. He rolls his head to the side to look at it.

"I'm pretty good with locks myself," Dean offers from the bedroom doorway. "Could swing by your place tomorrow."

"Swing by my brother's," Cas says distantly. "He'll be happy to help."

Especially when Cas, armed with his main set of keys, takes his Corvette as consolation when he refuses.

The bundle of fabric turns out to be a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. Cas gets changed while waiting for the room's only bathroom, rubbing the worn-soft fabric of the shirt between two fingers. They're both a little too big for him, but he likes the feel of it.

The closet in the bedroom has spare blankets and pillows. Cas peels a sheet from the stack and grabs a pillow and wanders back into the other room. It's likely the couch is a pullout, but he doesn't feel like bothering.

Dean appears once more in the doorway, toothbrush parked in his mouth. "You don' shnore, do oou?" he asks, and Cas blinks at him.

"No," he says slowly, fighting off a smile. Dean nods, ducks away again.

Cas collapses across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He's going to wake up tomorrow and find this was all some sort of bizarre dream, and Dean will be back to being an ass. Not that it matters much, since tomorrow will be the last time he ever sees Dean Winchester.

For some reason, that prospect doesn't sit with him now nearly as well as it would have four hours ago.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Late. Late, late, late, _late_. Late and short. I am so sorry. Weddings are a drag, and angsty Cas is depressing, so I had basically no motivation to write this chapter. Which is why it's late. On the other hand, I've started writing chapters out of order, which means half of chapter six is already written. So, not nearly as long a wait, and a bonus- it's gonna be a long one.

As a late gift and a sort of apology for the wait, have half a smut scene.

* * *

><p>He gasps, intoxicated by the sensation of sweat-slick skin sliding together. Fingers curl tight around powerful shoulders, short nails dragging across tanned skin, not quite deep enough to draw blood but certainly leaving marks. He moans, head dropping back, eyes falling closed, and feels fingertips gently tracing the line of his throat and following the curve of his jaw around to curl in the hair.<p>

There's a broken-sounding groan above him and he lets out a breathy laugh, bucking up into the body draped over his. The groan transforms into a curse and the fingers carding through his hair curl into a fist, pulling him up into a fierce hungry kiss. He shifts his grip on those shoulders, rolls up again, cock sliding against the hollow of the other's hip. The kiss stutters, dissolves into short, ragged gasps.

"Shit, Cas," the other man pants, returning the movement with a roll of his own, and Cas arches up into him. He lets go of one shoulder, skims his hand down to splay out over the small of his back, rocking into the other body and encouraging him to keep tempo. For one long, glorious moment, it's nothing but skin and lips and gasps and moving grinding rolling biting sucking-

The other's breath catches on an inhale, face burying against Cas' shoulder, rhythm broken as his thrusts became faster and sharper. Cas brings his hand back up, wraps it around the other's neck and pulls him in for another desperate kiss and lets him ride it out, amidst broken whispers of something that might be Cas' name.

They pull apart just enough to breathe, the other only seconds away from coming, and Cas watches as those green eyes go wide, gaze locked on his, body shaking and hands gripping painfully tight, just on the very edge of-

* * *

><p>Cas wakes up with a sharp gasp, jerking bolt upright. He looks around, wild-eyed and wide awake, for a moment blanking on where he was before remembering.<p>

If anything, that only made it more awkward.

He groans, buries his face in his hands. Six months without sex and he's having porno dreams of the first decently hot guy he encounters. It's like being seventeen all over again.

The light out the windows is the faint grey of false dawn- too early for Gabriel to be up and about, but Cas can't stay here. He dials his brother's landline and leaves it to ring as he grabs his clothes. They smell like a bar, but it's better than what he's wearing, which smells like Dean and really not helping the situation at all.

On the TV stand is a pad of hotel stationary and a pen. He writes out a quick note- _got ahold of my brother, gone home to get ready, see you at the wedding_- and leaves it on the coffee table.

The phone is still ringing as Cas heads out the door, closing it quietly behind him. He hangs up and dials Gabriel's cell phone instead, hanging up as the voicemail picks up and redialing instantly. It's too far to walk home, so Cas points himself in the direction of Gabriel's apartment and prays his brother hadn't gone out barhopping the night before.

He's almost halfway there when the Corvette finally purrs down the road, gliding to a halt in front of him. The window rolls open and Gabriel holds out his hand.

"Keys," he orders, and Cas passes them over. The window rolls up, and the passenger door unlocks with a _clunk_ Cas can hear.

"Where were you staying?" Gabriel asks as Cas slides into the passenger's seat.

"Hotel, with a member of the wedding party," Cas answers, reaching over to crank up the AC.

"And you walked out, at five-fifteen, because…?"

"Yes," Cas says, as if that means something, and gestures. "Get me home. I'll get a ride to the wedding from Rachel."

For a long moment Gabriel looks set to argue. Then he snorts and shifts his attention back to the road. "You owe me so big for this," he mutters.

Cas just looks out the window at the pre-dawn world, trying not to look his own reflection in the eyes.

* * *

><p>Gabriel, the family jack-of-all-trades, works some magic under the hood of Cas' car and gets it working again, with the grim warning that this was only a temporary solution.<p>

"I recommend pushing it into Clinton Lake and telling your insurance company it was stolen," he says as he's leaving, talking out the Corvette's open window. "That way you can get some money out of it."

Cas nods. He leans against the car, facing his brother.

"No, I didn't," he says, and Gabriel gives him a confused look.

"Sorry, you didn't-?"

"Do something stupid," Cas explains. "You've been wanting to ask ever since you picked me up."

"That 'member of the wedding party'," Gabriel begins.

"Was Dean, yes. I slept on the couch. Nothing happened."

"Right. Everybody decides to go for a four-mile walk at five in the morning because nothing happened." He shifts the car out of park, a subtle hint that he's leaving, whether or not he has to dump Cas on his ass in the process.

"What business is it of yours if something did happen?" Cas asks.

"It's not. I didn't ask." Gabriel gives him a knowing look, one that reminds Cas that they grew up together and Gabriel is the only person in the world who actually understands what's going on inside his head. "Although this defensiveness says a lot."

"I'm not defensive."

"Of course not." Gabriel snorts. "Go get ready for your precious wedding, and don't drink any coffee. You're already pretty close to the edge."

Cas wants to snap that Gabriel is his brother, not his father, but he holds it back. He's right- Cas is on edge, snappy and defensive, and in no particular hurry to explain why. And Gabriel hadn't asked, and didn't deserve to be dealing with it.

"You're right. Sorry." He pauses, shifts so he's no longer leaning against the Corvette and moves a few steps away. "And I owe you one, within reason."

"I just love that your favors come with restrictions," Gabriel mutters. He rolls up the window before Cas can remind him of why that is.

Cas watches until the Corvette's distinctive taillights disappear into the dawnlit gloom, then turns and heads inside.

A cold shower is just what he needs to get his head back on straight. He spends longer than necessary under the chilling spray, putting things in order in his mind, bracing himself for the day that's coming. Not for the first time, he promises himself that he's never letting Rachel talk him into doing a wedding again.

All he has to do is survive this one day.

* * *

><p>"Wow," a familiar voice says, accompanied by the soft clicking of heels on the tile floor. "You clean up nice."<p>

"Hello, Anna," he greets her, sparing her a quick glance. She's wearing a pale green dress, and she's wearing it well. He remembers how she'd spent the rehearsal cuddled up to Dean and swallows a bitter half-formed comment.

"You even shaved," she continues, reaching out to brush her fingers over his smooth cheek. He frowns at her but allows the touch. "You look younger without the stubble."

"Thank you," Cas says, unsure if it's the right thing to say. She'd seen him cleaned up for the KC showing, after all. He glances at her, frowns again. Anna has the look of a woman on a mission, which like as not won't bode well for him.

He returns to watching the crowd mill about, conversing in quiet murmurs. She'll crack first, he knows. She has to- she came over here for a reason, and Castiel is far more patient.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, finally. Cas spares her a quick look.

"What do you mean?" he counters.

"You're acting oddly," she explains. "I mean, you're hardly Mister Personality, but it's almost like you're hiding from everyone today."

He refuses to look at her, to acknowledge her question. "The wedding starts soon. Don't you have someplace you need to be?"

"Cas," she says, half-scolding, and he idly wonders exactly when he'd gotten another sister. "Seriously. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he says, turning to face her and giving her his full and undivided attention for the first time. "Just tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

"Yeah," she says wisely, with a nod. "Couches can be vindictive like that."

"You've spoken to Dean," he mutters, not really a question.

"I have. He cleans up nice, too."

Cas can't quite help the flinch. He'd noticed it as well, couldn't _not_ notice it. Anna sees his reaction and smiles a little.

"You know, he seems to have loosened up since yesterday," she says. "And you probably haven't noticed, but every time you two are in the same room, he keeps looking at you. Why don't you go talk to him?"

"Is 'talk to him' code for ask him out?" Cas asks.

"Sure. Why not?"

"I'm not interested in being someone's gay experiment," he says darkly. "It rarely ends well."

She can say nothing to that. Instead she pats his arm, eyes dark with sympathy.

"Well, it probably wouldn't have been a good idea anyway," she says lightly. "He's on the rebound, remember? And he's not even from around here."

Cas looks at her, a withering glare.

"Too obvious?" she asks, then shrugs. "Well, can't say I didn't try." She starts to walk away, hesitates and turns back. "It's just, you've got it bad, I can tell. I'm worried."

"Don't be," Cas says. "I can take care of myself."

"That's what I'm worried about," Anna says simply, grimly, and walks away while he's trying to figure that one out.

* * *

><p>Against all odds, the wedding ceremony goes off without a hitch. Both bride and groom make it to the altar, neither fumble their vows, and the children involved in the ceremony all behave themselves. Cas fulfills his role photographer in a sort of half-aware state- the job isn't suffering for his indifference, he could do this in his sleep. From his position in the chapel, he can see out the main window, and watches as an ominous grey tower of clouds rolls in.<p>

The reception is in the hotel Dean's staying at, and that really doesn't help Cas all that much. Even worse is Anna's apparent desire to drive him insane with her hovering. At least the rain holds off until they're all inside, which is good, since the capper to a perfect day would be Rachel getting pissy over something no one can control.

Cas watches the crowd shuffle in. At some point, he notices, one of the men in the party had produced a battered old trucker cap and was glaring challengingly at anyone who even looked like they might protest.

Rachel, naturally, makes a beeline straight to him. She takes his camera, scans quickly through the pictures so far.

"Not too many people from the groom's family," she notes, stopping briefly at the formal shots they'd done before leaving the church.

"Not all families are big," Cas replies evenly. "And not all family members are invited. Would you let Gabriel come to your wedding?"

"God, no," Rachel says quickly, shivering a little at the prospect. "I would sooner do the alien wedding chapel in Vegas than let Gabriel have any part in my wedding."

"Be one to remember," Cas points out, taking his camera back.

"For all the wrong reasons. By the way, is everything all right?"

He looks at her with a frown. Between the mind-numbing boringness of the wedding and the monotony of his job, he's slipped out of this morning's dark mood and into a dreary sort of lethargy. "I don't understand why people keep asking me that."

"I don't know, you seem a little… off today," Rachel says. She pauses, glances up at the head table where the toasts are going to begin soon, and edges a little closer. "How did everything go last night?"

"Fine," Cas says, too quickly. He forces himself to relax and elaborates. "No one did anything stupid, no one got too drunk."

"Really? Because you have a history."

Cas closes his eyes for a moment. "I have gotten drunk several times and done nothing stupid," he says, when he feels he can answer civilly. "It's only when Gabriel gets involved that things get…"

"Memorable?" Rachel offers, tone suspiciously bland. Cas gestures to the head table and the crowd.

"I think the toasts are about to begin," he says. "Do you mind if I go do my job?"

It's a little bitchy, but it works. Rachel dismisses him with a nod, heads off on her own to go harass some other poor bastard, possibly to declare war on the trucker hat. It's gotten several unkind looks from her already.

* * *

><p>The toasts go smoothly. Dean's is thoughtful and funny in a way that makes Cas think someone else wrote it for him, and threatened him with many unpleasant things should he stray off-script. Sam, at least, looks relieved that there's not going to be a recounting of various childhood failures or a recital of old girlfriends- always a worry, when your best man has known you your whole life.<p>

The bride does the traditional dance with her father. Cas watches Rachel, wonders what she's thinking. Wonders who would give her away at her wedding. Michael would work, if he could get away for it.

It's almost three hours later before Cas can finally escape. It's pounding rain by now, and he hunches miserably in the doorway, scowling at the world. He'd brought his camera case in with him, he wasn't an idiot, but he doesn't want to brave the elements in a mad dash for his car.

"Oh, Cas, hey," a familiar voice calls, and Cas closes his eyes and sighs. Opportunity missed. Now he gets to deal with something potentially worse than the rain.

"I should thank you," he says as Dean jogs over. "For last night, I mean."

"Huh?" Dean blinked for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, no problem."

And then there is silence. Cas has no idea why Dean has sought him out, has nothing to say to the man- nothing he's willing to say, that is.

"Uh, thanks, I guess," Dean says finally. "For everything."

Cas frowns, tilts his head a bit. Before he can ask for clarification, though, he hears the rain beyond slowing a bit.

"I should go," he says, and Dean nods.

"Yeah. See you around."

Cas turns and heads into the rain, aiming for his car, and thinks no, you won't.

It hurts more than it should.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Long, this time. Long and a timely update! Told ya it'd be a quick wait. This chapter clocked in at over five thousand words, by the end of it. I worked with it a bit and managed to convince it to give up about fifteen hundred words or so in donation of the Chapter Seven Fund, so it is now- by Word's count- at 3,600 words.

For your viewing pleasure, more awkward Dean 'n Cas! Because I love the getting-to-know-you phase. Especially between people who are socially inept- Cas- and/or as emotionally adept as a sack of turnips- Dean.

* * *

><p>He hears the noise as soon as he opens the door. It's an odd, soft sort of cry. He's never heard anything quite like it before, so lost and small and pitiful.<p>

For a long moment Cas stays frozen in the doorway, keys in one hand and plastic grocery sack in the other. The sound comes again, and this time he's able to identify it. He steps forward, lets the door close behind him as he takes the stairs two at a time.

There's a small dog crate in the middle of his living room. Cas has dialed Gabriel's number and is listening to the ring by the time he reaches it.

"What part of 'no dog' did you not happen to understand?" he asks casually when Gabriel answers.

"Home already? Wow, you really need a life," his brother says. Cas edges around the crate, crouching down in front of the grate door in order to see inside. All that's visible is a small mass of curly black fur.

"Gabriel-"

"The older members of House Novak have taken a vote," Gabriel announces imperiously. "You're a hermit. You need to get out more, get something outside of your work to interest you. The dog was a compromise."

"I don't want a dog."

"Well, the other option was having Rachel set you up on a blind date. I personally would stick with the dog."

"Gabriel, I do not want a dog." Cas enunciates the words, as if that will help. He watches as the bundle of fur squirms around to admit a face, white muzzle between eyes covered by a black raccoon-like mask and floppy ears too big for the face they frame.

"Kid, none of us have heard so much as a peep from you since the wedding. That's four days of avoiding us. Takes some serious effort."

"Or serious hermitage?" Cas asks drolly. "One last time, Gabriel. I do. Not want. A dog."

"Puppies are real chick magnets. Gotta work for the opposite swing, too."

"No."

"Trial basis, then."

"This is not a negotiation," Cas says helplessly, because of course it isn't. He'll pretty much end up doing whatever Gabriel wants, because Gabriel is the spawn of Satan.

"Give it a week. If you don't want to keep her, I'll take her back. And when my friend asks what went wrong, I'll tell her you're a soulless, heartless robot."

"It's a puppy," Cas murmurs, almost to himself. He realizes he's threaded his fingers through the grate just as the puppy's pink tongue darts out and starts licking his fingertips. He jerks his hand back and ignores the whimpering. "What friend is this, exactly?"

"What friend? A friend. What's it matter?"

His immediate, graceless retreat tells Cas all he needs to know. "Kali, right?"

Gabriel's thing- and 'thing' is the most appropriate term for that which truly defies definition and explanation- with Kali is legendary. Cas tries not to ask too many questions about it. He really doesn't want to know, and doubts he would get any answers besides. This also, unfortunately, means he might as well give up fighting now.

"Yes, Kali. Now, I left everything you need there. She needs her next round of shots tomorrow. Vet's address is in the folder."

Cas stands up, moves away a bit. On the couch is a slim three-ring binder and a small duffel bag.

As he moves out of the puppy's line of sight, the whimpering grows into full-blown crying.

"What is- Is she still in the kennel?"

"It's a puppy," Cas says again, with a completely different meaning. He has no intention of inflicting a puppy on his loft.

"Let her out, Castiel."

When he pulls out the full name like that, Cas knows he's not joking around. He sighs, goes back over to the crate and after a moment's fumbling opens the door. The puppy explodes out, all long clumsy legs and floppy ears, a black-and-white missile that runs and slides around the loft, colliding with furniture and tripping over too-big paws. Cas heads back over to the couch and reaches for the binder.

The puppy takes a flying leap onto the couch, doesn't quite make it and falls on her belly. She sits on Cas' left foot and starts crying again.

"Thank you, Gabriel," he says as sarcastically as he possibly can. "This is exactly what I need in my life right now."

"Yeah, I know, you're thrilled," his brother replies, matching his sarcasm perfectly. "For the first time in your life, you're responsible for the welfare of another living creature. It's just a week, all right?"

Cas scoops the puppy up and drops her on the couch. She promptly starts chewing on the binder.

Never has a week seemed so long.

* * *

><p>In the course of four hours, the puppy reduces three shoes- none from the same pair, of course- into slimy pulp, gets into the bag of dog supplies and eats an entire pouch of dog treats, rips a doorstop right out of the wall, tears down the curtains in the guest room, and puts several dents in the walls. Cas has long since come to the conclusion that his brother secretly hates him, and is destroying his life in an indirect method that only he could possibly manage.<p>

Out of sheer self-defense, because this five-pound wrecking ball will cause untold amounts of damage if he doesn't, he shuts the puppy in the crate before going to bed.

"This is not a Disney movie," he tells her through the grate door. "Cry all you want. It won't get you anything."

He realizes, as he lets her out at two thirty because she _will not shut up_, that it's kind of pitiful he lost a war of the wills against a puppy. But when he wakes up to a small warm weight draped peacefully over his left ankle, he can almost convince himself it's worth it.

* * *

><p>The vet's office is a forty-minute drive out of town. Cas brings the kennel, but the puppy rides in his lap, contentedly staring out the windows around her. He doesn't even try putting her in it. She's already figured out he can only take so much of that godawful crying.<p>

He's greeted by a vet tech, who coos over the puppy for a good five minutes. Then she asks for the dog's information, and they run into a little snag.

"Paperwork's not all filled out," she tells him, pointing to one suspicious blank on the page. It's the first time Cas has looked at it after rescuing the binder from the puppy yesterday. As she does so, a woman with a meowing kennel walks in, and the puppy immediately begins fighting in Cas' arms to go check it out.

"What's missing?" Cas asks, more focused on the armful of rebellious puppy.

"Her name."

"She doesn't have one," he says. The puppy starts whining in excitement, and the cat, only its eyes visible, reflecting light deep in the back corner of the kennel, falls silent. So does the tech, who looks at Cas like he's some particularly vile thing.

"Why not?" she asks, and all trace of friendliness has fled. Cas doesn't answer, doesn't quite know how to answer, and so only shrugs.

The woman holding the cat kennel makes a disapproving noise and shakes her head a little. The tech shares a look with her, a look that speaks volumes, and Cas realizes abruptly that he is on enemy turf here- he is not an animal person, but everyone else clearly is. If he wants to get out of this alive and in one piece, he'll need to play along.

He gropes mentally for anything resembling a dog's name, lands briefly on the previous night- _this is not a Disney movie_. "Lady," he says, a little desperately. "Her name is Lady. I haven't gotten the chance to write it down yet."

Instantly the hostility in the room dies. The tech smiles at him, best friends once more.

"Well, then," she says, a little too cheerful to be sincere, "let's go get Lady her shots."

Cas lets her take the puppy, making a vague excuse about a fear of needles and stays behind in the waiting room. The tech gets three steps down the hallway before the puppy, no longer able to see Cas, starts whimpering.

With a tired groan, he heads down the hallway after her.

* * *

><p>Naturally, his car chooses to die almost exactly halfway between the vet's office and any other form of civilization.<p>

Cas stares out the window, arms folded over the steering wheel and chin resting on his wrist. The puppy sits in the passenger's seat, chewing happily on the rawhide bone Cas had given her with the intent of saving his shoes. He's got no reception on his cell phone, which is only fitting, and the car makes an unhealthy grinding noise when he tries to turn the engine over.

He remembers Gabriel's prediction on the morning of the wedding and tries not to think that he brought this on himself.

Something touches his thigh, gently, and he looks down as the puppy crawls into his lap. For a long moment he ignores her. Then he sighs and reaches down, rubbing at one floppy ear.

"At least you're housebroken," he says. Then, motivated by the thought, he reaches into the back seat and pulls the leash out of the bag.

He ends up sitting on the passenger seat, turned out so he's half-out of the car, letting the puppy roam around in the grass on the side of the road. She seems genuinely content just to be near him, which is a rather novel experience. For almost twenty minutes he sits there, just watching the puppy. As he looks on, she starts backwards abruptly, a large grasshopper taking to the air in that buzzing ungainly way of theirs. The puppy nearly throttles herself on her collar lunging after the insect.

The sound of a car engine finally gets Cas moving. He gets up, scooping the puppy up with a hand under her belly, and gently tosses her onto the passenger's seat and shuts the door. By this time, he's recognized the engine, and wonders mildly if fate truly hates him this much.

He's leaning against the front fender of his car, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, when the Impala comes around the bend and into view. It immediately slows, then speeds up again until it pulls up even with Cas' car.

"Let me guess," Dean says out the open window. "Roadside decoration committee?"

"Hello, Dean," Cas says evenly. Something flickers briefly in Dean's eyes- surprise, perhaps. "May I borrow your cell phone?"

"Sorry, no reception out here," Dean answers, and Cas groans and leans back. For a moment the black behemoth idles there, engine rumbling like a restless lion. Then it starts forward again, swinging onto the shoulder beyond Cas' car. Cas watches as Dean climbs out.

"Move," Dean orders, shooing Cas out of the way. "Pop the hood."

He does as ordered, catching the puppy when she tries to launch herself out the open door and depositing her back in the passenger's seat.

"Do you know about cars, then?" he asks, and immediately feels stupid for asking. Fortunately, Dean doesn't laugh, just shoots Cas a quick half-smirk grin.

"Yeah, just a little. Bobby- Bobby Singer, he was at the wedding, older guy with the beard?"

"Wore a trucker cap at the reception," Cas adds, and Dean grins at the memory.

"Yeah. Him. Anyway, he runs his own garage, offered me a job while I was out here. It's why I'm still in Kansas." He looks at the car before him and sends Cas a sideways glance. "This is a piece of crap."

"So everyone who has ever seen it feels the need to inform me," Cas replies with a vague shrug. "It works, mostly. That's all I care about." He moves back, resting a hip against the passenger door, and listens to the sound of short little claws scrabbling at the window.

"Well, I can see three serious problems already," Dean says. "Probably not even worth fixing." He pushes the hood back down.

Inside the car, the puppy sits down and whines, soft little whimpers that Cas hears only because he's listening for it. He tries not to sigh at what he knows is coming next.

"You really should just get a new car," Dean says.

And just as Dean ends his sentence, in a beautiful display of timing, the puppy tips her head back and starts crying for real. Dean yanks his hands off the car's hood, eyes going wide as he backs up a step or two, and the look he's giving the car is just too priceless. He recovers quickly, of course, realizing almost immediately that it's not the car that's crying, but that split second 'almost' is all it takes. Cas finds himself laughing- true, genuine laughter, the tears-in-your-eyes sort- for the first time in months, if not years.

"Yeah, very funny," Dean grumbles. There's something odd in his voice but Cas can't tell what, can't even look at him. He's having enough trouble breathing as is. "What the _hell_ was that?"

Cas pulls himself together relatively quickly. He clears his throat, rubs at his eyes to get rid of any tears. "I needed that," he tells Dean, as he opens the door and catches the puppy as she catapults herself towards him.

"Didn't figure you for a dog person," Dean says. The puppy dangles contentedly from Cas' hand, tail wagging hard, and begins pawing at the air as Dean approaches.

"I'm not," Cas says. "I'm… dogsitting, you could say." He watches Dean, watches as something in his eyes soften and a smile tugs at his lips, and remembers what Gabriel had said about puppies being chick magnets. He's suddenly uncomfortable, and dumps the puppy into Dean's hands and backs off a bit. Dean's gaze jerks up, as if he's about to snap something, but the puppy manages to get her hind legs braced and lunges at his face.

"If this is a lost cause, then I need a ride to town," Cas says, kicking idly at his car. "I'll call and have someone come out and tow it."

"Bobby'll do it," Dean says, holding the puppy now at arm's length and wiping the drool off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "He'll even buy that as scrap and spare parts. Best offer you're gonna get for it."

Cas sighs. He looks across the road, watches as an SUV full of kids rumbles past. One young wit, evidently recently empowered by the discovery of vulgarity, flips them off. Dean responds in kind with considerably more ease.

"I still need a ride," Cas says, watching the puppy. She picks up her too-big ears at the sound of his voice, turns and begins air-swimming to try to reach him, whining when she finds herself going nowhere.

"She likes you," Dean mutters, handing her back over, and Cas tucks her against his side automatically. "Get your stuff and let's go. That," and here he sends a warning look at the puppy, "goes in the kennel."

"I wouldn't," Cas begins, but stops with a shrug when Dean gives him a look. He pushes her into the kennel and deposits it in the backseat, along with the bag of dog supplies. Then he looks at Dean, who is watching him a bit oddly.

"So today is a good day?" he asks, and Cas frowns.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just…" Dean makes a helpless sort of gesture, then shrugs it off. "Never mind. Get in."

He does, with a confused frown, stealing quick little glances at Dean. In the back, the puppy is already whimpering.

Dean gets in, closes his door and gets his keys out of his pocket. Then he pauses and looks in the rearview mirror.

"Is she gonna do this the whole time?" he asks.

"No," Cas says, all honesty. And he's right- Dean has the car started and has just pulled back onto the road when the whimpering becomes crying. "That, probably."

The Impala stops again. Dean tightens one hand around the steering wheel, staring at the crate in the mirror.

"Fine. But if she pisses in my car-"

He stops there, apparently lacking the words to describe the wrath the puppy will face.

"I would worry more about the chewing," Cas mutters, and reaches back to open the kennel door before Dean can rescind his offer. He has to get up on one knee and twist sideways, the other foot braced against the floorboards and body turned uncomfortably close to Dean, in order to reach. The puppy is happy to be scooped up and brought up front, where Cas can watch her and make sure she doesn't start gnawing on anything. He drops properly back into his seat and tries not to press himself against the door, or worse, press in close to Dean.

The car is moving again by the time Cas gets himself situated, puppy pressed in close against his knee, one hand wrapped loosely around her so as to keep anything from somehow finding its way into her mouth.

The silence isn't quite awkward, but it's close to it. Cas doesn't know what to say to break it, is honestly afraid to try. He does know full well this almost-awkwardness is his fault, which really doesn't make it any easier.

He catches himself staring at Dean's hands, resting loosely on the steering wheel. He forces himself to look away, out the window. "What do you mean by good day?" he asks, his voice so harsh and sudden in the silence that even Cas himself jumps a little bit.

Dean spares him a glance, then a longer look. Then he shrugs a little. "You've been blowing hot and cold since I met you. At first you were a dick, then you warmed up and for a while you were… well, almost friendly. Then the next day you were shutting everyone down again."

And hiding from Dean like a coward, but there was really no need to drag that out. He looks back out the window, curls his fingers through the puppy's wiry fur.

"Yes," he says. "Today is a good day."

"Great." It's almost a challenge.

"I apologize for that," Cas continues. "It wasn't your fault. I was…" He pauses, unsure of the words. The puppy heaves a surprisingly huge sigh for such a little creature. "I was distracted by a personal matter," he says finally, finding the words he wanted. Dean snorts, obviously recognizing it as the bullshit it is, but graciously lets Cas get away with it.

There's silence again after that. This time it's considerably less awkward.

.

The Impala pulls into the customer parking lot and parks crooked across two spaces. Dean leans forward, looking up out the front window, squinting at the building in front of him.

"You actually live up there?" he asks. Cas imagines he's picturing an attic loft, full of old store junk and cobwebs and flickering lights. He opens his mouth, about to invite Dean up, so Cas can see his face when he sees what it's really like. Then he snaps it shut again, rubber-stamps Really Bad Idea across that mental file, and tucks it away.

"Yes," he says, when he's sure the words coming out of his mouth won't be worthy of a really bad porno. "Thank you for your help, Dean."

Those green eyes flick to him, then away again just as quickly. "Yeah, sure," he says.

Cas tucks the puppy under one arm, drags the kennel out of the back and simply drops it to the ground and kicks it towards the door. He'll come back down and get it in a minute, when he has a free hand. He turns back to get the bag and sees Dean, out of the car now and hand wrapped around his cell phone.

"So, your number?" he says, and it's so graceless and uncomfortable a request, Cas has to look away to hide his smile. He recites the number as he drags the bag out, shifting the puppy a little as she starts squirming. "Thanks. I'll call you when we know something about your car."

The puppy is fighting for real now, and even if he had both hands free Cas couldn't contain her for long. He manages to get the leash wrapped around his wrist a few times and puts her down, lets her charge off as far as the leash will allow.

"You're cool with being stuck here?" Dean asks, eyeing him carefully.

"I'll be fine," Cas says calmly. "And I have siblings, one of whom owes me a very large favor right now."

Dean nods, moves back to open the car door. Cas closes his door, kicks the kennel back and moves out of the way.

The store cashier- Amber, with hair a shade of blue not found in nature and wearing approximately half her weight in jewelry- comes out to talk. Cas dumps the puppy on her for the minute it takes to get the kennel and the bag up to his loft, then comes back and gets his new roommate.

He drops onto the couch and watches as the puppy- Lady, he tells himself, ought to get used to that- starts chewing on one of the shoes she'd killed the previous day. For the first time since the wedding, he feels relatively content.

A good day, indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Here's a philosophical question… Why is it Word's spellcheck doesn't acknowledge 'meerkat' as a word, and yells at me every time I type it, yet it's in the Word dictionary?

Also, I got tired of the long slow build thing and wrote Cas/Dean smut, for the age-old reason of Because I Can. If you want porn with only a vague attempt at plot, go look under my profile for the story I70.

* * *

><p>"You know, I'm almost impressed. If you were doing this on purpose, I would be very proud of you. But this is all on accident, so it's just kind of pathetic."<p>

"Thank you, Gabriel," Cas says. He grabs the blank poster stock paper off the coffee table just before his brother puts his feet up on it. "It means quite a bit, knowing I will always have you to support me."

"It's all very chick-flick-esque," Gabriel continues. "It's got that horrible groan-worthy quality to it. It's so bad, it's almost funny." He points at Cas with the Snickers bar he'd gotten in the store before coming up. "You're Reese Witherspoon."

"You watched _Gone with the Wind_ every night for a month when you were seventeen," Cas shoots back. "That is the original and ultimate chick flick."

"_Gone with the Wind_ is a great movie. It's an excellent commentary on the human condition."

Cas stops trying to organize the pile of poster and looks over at his brother, who is gnawing at the Snickers bar and giving him a smug look.

"How is it you're not the gay one?" he asks finally, and Gabriel smirks.

"Rachel asks me that about once a week." He toes off one shoe, then the other, then swings his legs over so he's lying lengthwise on the couch. "So are we seeing loverboy again soon?"

"He has my number," Cas mutters distractedly. "Presumably he asked for it for a reason."

"And you didn't get his number," Gabriel mutters. "I know it's been a while, Cas, but I honestly thought you'd at least be able to remember the basics."

"Why are you encouraging this?" Cas asks. "Last I heard, it was all 'don't go there, this can't end well'."

"You went there," Gabriel answers dryly. "Hell, not only have you gone there, you've set up base camp and begun laying out foundations for the freaking _shopping mall_. I'm just doing what I can with what you're giving me." He pauses thoughtfully. "Consider this my contribution to the Get Cas Laid Foundation."

Most people have always found it difficult to get any sort of a reaction out of Cas. He is, by nature, contained and composed and quiet.

Gabriel can completely destroy that composed calm in one sentence every single time.

"I will pay you to never say that again," he says, once the moment of stunned horror has passed.

And because it's Gabriel, the immediate response is a hand held out expectantly. Knowing his brother too well to have made such an offer without intending to back it up, Cas pulls a twenty out of his wallet and hands it over.

"So what is all this anyways?" Gabriel asks, changing the subject with all the grace of a drunken rhinoceros as he gestures to the posterboard.

"Wedding pictures," Cas says. "I want to get this done and out of the way so I can do real work."

"Is the happy couple back from the honeymoon? It's not even been a week."

"No," Cas says tightly, and Gabriel grins.

"Right. You're not dealing with the happy couple."

"Rachel," and if anything, Cas' voice gets even tighter, "told them she would handle these 'fiddly little details' while they were gone. Apparently they trust her enough to let her pick out the best pictures and sizes."

"Fiddly little detail? Ouch." Gabriel winces in sympathy.

Lady appears then, dragging a dish towel she had gotten ahold of sometime this morning. She wags her tail at Gabriel but heads to Cas, flopping contentedly down at his feet and worrying the towel with her sharp little teeth.

"You know," Gabriel says thoughtfully, "I was worried I was gonna find myself telling Kali that you killed this poor little thing. But now I'm not. This girl is kicking your ass, isn't she?"

"She is going back when the week is over," Cas tells him. His cell phone starts ringing as he says it. He fishes it out of his pocket, glances at the screen and blinks at the unfamiliar number.

"Yeah, I believe that," Gabriel drawls. Cas ignores it for now and answers the phone.

"Yes?" he asks, a touch warily.

"Hey, Cas, it's Dean."

Cas would give his left arm to not have this conversation with Gabriel sitting right there. The best he can do is turn pointedly away, putting his back to his brother.

"Hello, Dean," he says carefully. He can literally hear Gabriel perk up behind him. He waits a moment, shoots a glance over his shoulder and catches his brother climbing to his feet.

"Bobby got your car this morning," Dean says.

"I still need a new one?" Cas asks, watching as Gabriel makes a production out of heading into the kitchen and getting a glass of water.

Dean gives an amused little snort. "Yeah, sorry. We're not miracle workers."

Gabriel is wandering over casually, as if he thinks he's actually fooling anybody. Cas wonders how immature it would be to lock himself in the bathroom.

"There's paperwork to fill out, so you need to come out to the garage," Dean is saying. Gabriel gives him an innocent look, goes over and sits back down on the couch as he realizes there's no chance in hell he's getting close enough to listen in.

"So, do you need a ride?" Dean finishes.

"No, my brother is here," Cas says, and Gabriel raises his eyebrows in question. Cas moves the phone away for a moment. "I need a ride."

For all of Gabriel's faults, stupidity is not one of them. His gaze goes from Cas, to the phone, to Cas again, and he smiles. "Nope. Sorry. Got a shift starting in twenty."

Which is a blatant lie and Cas knows it- his schedule hasn't changed in three years- and Gabriel knows he knows, and the smug bastard just sits there smirking at him.

"You do not," Cas hisses.

"Do so."

This is in the process of devolving into an argument worthy of the second grade. Cas puts the brakes on this now, giving his brother a dirty look, and brings the phone back up.

"Actually, he's going to work soon, so I do need a ride."

"Cool. Well, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," Cas says. Dean makes a sound that might be in farewell and hangs up.

"How long 'til he gets here?" Gabriel asks, cheerful and far too interested.

"Half an hour," Cas lies smoothly, because if he hadn't learned how to lie to this brother with a straight face, he wouldn't have made it to his seventh birthday. "And if you want to make it to… work," this said with a venomous glare, "you need to leave about five minutes ago."

"Ah, that's right, I just remembered," Gabriel says, shifting his gaze to the ceiling and scratching idly at his chin. "I called in sick today."

"Go. Away." Cas says, enunciating slowly. If anything, his brother's uncharacteristic agitation seems to only amuse Gabriel further.

"Sure thing, kid. I'll accidentally run into him some other time, then." And Gabriel sits up properly and reaches for his shoes.

"You're not going to do the protective big brother thing," Cas says, aghast at the very prospect, and Gabriel scoffs.

"Hell yeah, I am," he says, tone and expression suggesting Cas is a fool for even thinking it might be otherwise. "Are you kidding? I've never gotten to do this before. It'll be fun."

"Gabriel-"

"Gotta run," his brother says as he stands up. "Lift that barge, tote that bale, and whatnot."

"Tote the barge," Cas corrects half-heartedly. "At least take Lady for a while. She's eating my home piece by piece."

"Lady?" Gabriel glances at the puppy, then shoots his brother a knowing grin. "Oh yeah, she's not making any impression at all."

"Just-" Cas begins, pointing to the door.

"Going, Cas. I'm going." He grabs a leash from the dog bag and scoops up Lady. Then he heads out without another word, thus proving that, contrary to popular opinion, he does indeed possess an ounce of both self-preservation and common sense.

Cas just sits on the couch and wonders why he always feels like he's always missing something whenever he has these conversations with his brother.

* * *

><p>The knock on his door comes ten minutes later- right on time. Cas opens it and blinks down at Sheila the shop girl.<p>

"That man is here," she tells him. He says nothing, having no idea what she's talking about. "The one with the car," she adds, and it clicks.

She'd been there, that day Cas and Dean had met, and something had changed. Before that she had refused to look Cas in the eye and blushed furiously whenever he spoke directly to her, but now she's friendly. She almost sounds protective, as if she's offering to throw Dean out should Cas ask her to.

Cas will freely admit he's not the most socially graceful, or even observant, person in the world, but he has no idea what he did that day to get her to warm up to him so fast.

He closes and locks the door behind him and heads down the stairs after Sheila. She takes up position behind the counter and gives Dean what could only be described as the stink-eye. Dean ignores her, catches Cas' eye and jerks his head in a _come on then_ gesture. Cas follows him out and in turning to catch the door so it doesn't swing closed on him, notices movement out of the corner of his eye and turns back. Sheila is blushing again.

"Something wrong?" Dean asks, standing next to his car, and Cas starts moving again.

"People confuse me," he admits freely. They both look back, and Sheila gives Cas a self-conscious smile and an odd little wave.

"Seriously?" Dean asks on a laugh, and Cas looks at him questioningly. Dean looks back at Sheila, then at Cas, and gives him an oddly fond smile. "I've seen this before," he says, tone gently mocking. "Those of us who live on planet Earth call it a 'crush'."

Cas moves over to the Impala's passenger door, because they can't just stand there and keep looking at the poor girl. "A week ago she wouldn't even speak to me."

"That was then. Things change." Suddenly, Dean looks almost uncomfortable with the conversation. He opens the car door and gets in and the sound of a heavy metal band- Cas has no idea which one- fills the air.

He isn't quite brave enough to actually turn the music down, once he's in his seat, but he does give Dean a pained look. Dean turns the volume down in concession. Then a new song starts, and he immediately starts singing.

Cas has no idea where Bobby's garage is, but he hopes it's somewhere very close.

* * *

><p>Bobby Singer in his natural element is a completely different man than the one Cas had met at the wedding. He's wearing a shirt that might have once been grey under a ratty old plaid thing and jeans that are probably older than Cas. And the hat, of course. He hears the Impala coming, apparently, and is waiting for them in front of a run-down looking old mechanic shop.<p>

"Don't judge," Dean says, clearly seeing the look on Cas' face. "Best mechanic in the Midwest."

"Of course," Cas replies, toneless as always, deciding the least he can do is reserve judgment.

"You were at Sam's wedding," Bobby says to him as he gets out of the car, looking surprised, like perhaps Dean hadn't bothered to tell him anything about who Cas is. "One of the angels, right?"

"What?" Dean does the meerkat thing, poking his head up over the roof of his car and looking back and forth with wide eyes. "What angels?"

"Yes, I am," Cas says to Bobby, then turns to Dean. "My brothers and I were all named after angels."

"An angel named Cas?" Dean asks, confused.

"Castiel." At the continuing silence, Cas squares his shoulders and lifts his chin in a semi-challenge. "The angel of Thursday."

Dean snickers. Bobby rolls his eyes and gestures for Cas to follow him as he turns and heads inside.

"The angel of Thursday? Are you kidding me?" Dean's still laughing. Cas ignores him, heads after Bobby. He hears Dean following, his humor dying away as he realizes Cas doesn't find it nearly so funny.

"At least tell me you were born on a Thursday," he says, once they're inside, and Cas feels the familiar old resignation, knows he looks pained.

"Sunday."

"If you're done…" Bobby says to Dean, who looks about ready to start laughing again. Once it's apparent Dean will contain himself, Bobby turns back to Cas and hands him a couple of papers. "Fill this out. It'll transfer the title over to me. You'll need to deal with your insurance and registration yourself. You got any questions, ask Chuckles over there."

"Thank you," Cas says, but Bobby is already leaving. He looks over at Dean, who shrugs a little.

"He's family," he says, in a _what can ya do_ sort of way. Cas has never known anyone as family who isn't actually related, and so says nothing. He goes over to the counter instead, finds a pen leashed to the Formica surface by a beadshot chain. There are no chairs, so he leans on his elbow as he writes, shifting constantly to keep his arm from falling asleep.

The second page goes from standard questions in perfectly understandable English to complete gibberish within the space of three lines. Cas frowns down at it for a long moment, tilting his head as if a new angle will give him better insight, then sighs.

"Dean?" he calls out, thinking Dean has gotten bored and wandered off. Instead, there's the sound of a clatter and a muffled crash and Cas starts at the noise, peering over his shoulder.

Several shelves full of what Cas can only assume is a mechanic's tools line one wall. Dean is standing near one that is swaying ever so slightly, his hand on it to steady it, several of its items scattered across the floor.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Cas says.

"You didn't, I was just…" He stops, coughs a little, says in a deeper and calmer voice, "You need something?"

"I have no idea what any of this means," Cas says, after a moment, and as Dean moves forward he steps away. While Dean's looking at the papers, Cas glances over at the doorway and sees Bobby standing there, frowning at both of them.

Then Dean asks him a question about his car and Cas is distracted for a few minutes. When he looks up again, Bobby is gone.

* * *

><p>Bobby gives him fifteen hundred for his car, which is honestly more than he'd thought he'd get. Cas thanks him for his help and gets a grunt that manages to combine you're welcome and goodbye into one sound.<p>

As they head out to the Impala, Bobby calls Dean back. Cas stays by the car, close enough to feel the warmth radiating of its black body, and watches as Dean and Bobby discuss something apparently very important, voices kept low. After only a minute or two Dean gestures to Cas and Bobby gives him a look, and suddenly Cas can see the whole family thing- that is the glare of a highly annoyed father.

"We'll talk later," he says ominously, loudly enough that Cas can hear it, and Dean flinches just the tiniest bit.

"What was that about?" Cas asks as Dean reaches the car.

"Ah, he thinks I'm being an idiot." He smiles as he says it, like there's nothing new there, like it's almost endearing.

"For helping me?"

"No," Dean says, a little too sharply, then shakes it off. "Look, don't worry about it."

"Family thing?" Cas asks as he gets in the car. Dean snorts.

"Yeah, something like that." Dean starts the car, leans back in the seat and glances over at Cas. "So you need a new car, then."

It doesn't really sound like a question, so Cas doesn't answer it. After a moment Dean continues, warily, as if unsure of his reception.

"Can you afford a new car?"

"Yes," Cas says, without even considering it, because it's true. After a good month, he could afford three.

"Huh," Dean muses, glancing at him. When Cas frowns, he explains. "It's nothing, just… you were kinda quick, there. Exactly how much do you make, anyways?"

"It varies," Cas replies. "Enough."

"And you really are a…" Dean pauses there, sliding quick little glances over at Cas.

"Nude photographer. Yes."

"I thought you were making that up," Dean says, after a long moment or two. "I mean, no offense, but you're not exactly-"

"I know," Cas interrupts. He's heard this before.

Dean lets out a disbelieving little laugh. "How'd you even get into that?" he asks, and Cas gives a little shake of his head. The story is too long and too involved to get into. After a moment Dean blows out his breath. "Career day at your high school must've been a lot more interesting than the one at mine."

Cas smiles, just a little bit.

"Wait a minute," Dean says suddenly, alarmed, and looks at Cas with wide eyes. "Anna, she's your friend, she isn't-?"

"One of my models, yes," Cas finishes for him. "I've worked with her for three years."

"Wow." Dean looks out the window, back over at Cas. His expression is similar to that of a gaffed trout. "Just… wow. Did not see that one coming."

Cas doesn't say anything to that, remembering once again how Anna and Dean had been cuddled together at the rehearsal.

"So are you always this chatty, or is today just special?" Dean asks.

"Today is special," Cas says, all seriousness, since he's talked more in the past hour than he normally does in a forty-eight hour period. Gabriel's right, he really does need to get out more.

"You're not joking, are you," Dean mutters, shooting him another look.

"My brother thinks I'm closing myself off," Cas says, and immediately wonders why he said it.

"Well, you're a photographer," Dean replies. "Isn't that kinda the point?"

Cas looks at him, stares at him really, until Dean is looking uncomfortable. He forces himself to look away, not liking how much Dean's opinion means to him. It's one thing to appreciate a pretty face, a well-built body. It's another thing entirely to start admiring the whole package.

Then the Impala is making the turn into the store parking lot, and the conversation, awkward and meandering and revealing as it was, is over. Cas shifts forward a little bit.

"There's a lot around back, and a door to the stairs," he says. "You don't have to come in through the store."

"Sure," Dean says, and Cas realizes it doesn't matter. Dean won't be dropping by here again.

"Thank you, again," Cas mutters, almost to himself, oddly reluctant to get out of the car.

"Anytime. Good luck with the car shopping."

It seems like he's always watching that big old car drive away. So Cas goes through the door before Dean can shift it into reverse, and is halfway up the stairs when the behemoth makes the turn out of the parking lot.

It doesn't really help. He can still hear the throaty engine fading away.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Several events banded together to prevent my posting this sooner: a funeral, this site going all SNAFU-y on me, and this chapter refusing to cooperate. Balthazar in particular was being a little menace. On the other hand, events within should make it worth the wait. And there will not be nearly as bad a wait for the next chapter, mostly out of fear for my own well-being.

* * *

><p>"Well now, this is just too precious for words."<p>

Cas doesn't bother looking up from his laptop. He knows the voice.

"And yet, you manage to find some," he says in reply. There's a brief pause, a presence moving behind him, stopping just shy of him.

"It is friendly, right?"

"She's a puppy, Balthazar," Cas says on a sigh, and his friend reluctantly moved around the table.

"Might I ask the obvious question?" Balthazar asks, watching Lady with a wary eye as he moves towards the empty chair, using a style of movement that was very similar to tiptoeing without actually giving the impression he is afraid of the foul beast lying before him. He settles into his chair carefully, as if afraid one wrong move will set her off.

"Gabriel," Cas answers, and that's all he needs to say, Balthazar's face lighting up with instant understanding.

Balthazar- and Cas can only assume he has a last name, as most people tend to, but Cas has never known it- is a long-standing and wisely silent witness to the utter chaos that is the Novak family. He can't quite be called a family friend, as the only one with vaguely amiable feelings towards him is Cas; on a good day, Gabriel will tolerate him, but that's about as far as it goes. He is, however, part referee and part scorekeeper and part unbiased opinion, and talks to Raphael and Rachel more often than Cas does, and somehow manages to keep himself firmly out of the middle of everything.

How he manages any of it, never mind how he got sucked into it, is something neither he nor Cas can understand. And they have logged a good many hours, on quiet evenings when the mood to talk hits, trying to figure it out.

"Is she chewing on a shoe?" Balthazar asks, still looking down at the puppy.

"Yes."

"Ah." He tucks his feet protectively under his chair. "I'm assuming you didn't call me out here to show off Gabriel's latest stunt."

'Out here' was a table on the sidewalk patio of a small restaurant. Cas had managed to talk the manager into stringing up an extension cord and had looped Lady's leash around the table's leg, and had not moved for well over an hour now.

"The new hire's shift started an hour ago," he says grimly.

"The new hire being the Justin Bieber fan?" Balthazar inquires.

"She's been playing it in the break room, loud enough I can hear it," Cas says darkly. "Her first day in the store, I memorized three songs before I left."

"Not something I'd brag about," Balthazar agrees, supportive if not sympathetic, and gestures to the laptop. "May I?"

Cas pushes it over without a word. Balthazar is head of the theater department at the college, and an old friend besides. He steers his more open-minded students Cas' way, and helps with makeup when he needs it, as well as possessing an artistic eye distinctly lacking in Cas' family. He starts skimming through the file as Cas takes the water he'd ordered and pours some in a soup bowl, putting it under the table where Lady can reach.

"These are wedding pictures," Balthazar says, sounding suspicious, as if suspecting Cas of playing some sort of joke on him.

"I know," he replies. He takes out a sheet of folded loose leaf paper, unfolds it and runs a hand over it to smooth out the creases before handing it over. "These are the ones Rachel wants."

"You disagree?" Balthazar asks, studying the paper for a moment before switching back to the laptop.

"I'm trying to decide if it's worth it to disagree," Cas mutters.

"Might I remind you that you are not actually in her employ?" When Cas looks at him a bit blankly, he sighs. "You're her brother, doing her a favor, not her servant performing your duties. Do yourself a favor and remind her of that."

Cas shrugs. It's entirely possible Balthazar doesn't quite remember who he's talking about.

"Either the bride is short, or…" Balthazar begins, already moving on.

"The groom is six foot four," Cas says, and his friend makes a soft noise of amazement. Then his eyebrows rise and he looks closer at the screen.

"Did you happen to hear the best man's name?" he asks.

"Dean Winchester. The groom's older brother."

Balthazar blinks, starts to say something, looks up at him with exaggerated confusion. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

There's no way he couldn't have caught that, so Cas frowns at him as he repeats himself. Balthazar nods once, as if confirming something.

"Right. Never mind then."

"What?"

"Weddings are boring," Balthazar says, paging through the pictures quickly. "Where's the stuff from your last shoot?"

* * *

><p>It's a productive afternoon, Cas decides an hour later. It feels good to be getting back to his real work, rather than playing errand boy for Rachel. And Balthazar, as always, offers an honest, helpful opinion without any boorish comments.<p>

The busboy spends twenty minutes cleaning off the table behind Balthazar, twisting and craning his neck into uncomfortable-looking positions so as to get the best view of the laptop screen. When he finally leaves, it's with a huge grin on his face, and Cas just knows the whole kitchen staff will be hearing about this.

Then Balthazar makes a humming noise and shifts the laptop a bit, peering around the screen at the sidewalk.

"I have rarely said this," he says quietly, "but I am a little disappointed, Castiel. Your pictures hardly did him any justice."

"What?" Cas asks, glancing around in confusion. Then he glances over and sees Dean heading towards them, idly twirling a plastic grocery bag in one hand. He catches sight of them just as Cas sees him, smiles a little and alters his path towards them.

"You must have made an impression," Balthazar observes, and Cas looks back at him.

"There was an incident. My car died," he adds quickly, when Balthazar immediately perks up. "He works for a mechanic. He helped me out, that's all."

"That's boring," Balthazar says, brutally honest.

"Please just behave," Cas grits out, and gets an insulted look in return.

" 'Just behave'? Who do you think I am, your brother? I don't need social pointers, especially not from you of all people."

It would be easier if he were Gabriel, Cas thinks- his brother he can mostly control, and as an added bonus if all goes horribly wrong, Cas can always just say Gabriel just escaped from a mental hospital. Rachel has used this excuse, when Gabriel crashed one of her dates, and reported that her date hadn't even considered that she might be being sarcastic.

There's no time to clarify the order to behave, though, as Dean stops in front of the table. "Hey, Cas," he says, giving Balthazar a wary glance.

"Dean," Cas greets, one eye on his friend, who is looking far too pleased with himself right now. Balthazar makes a sharp gesture and Cas suddenly remembers what's supposed to come next. "This is Balthazar."

"Huh," Dean muses, looking at the blonde. Cas picks up his glass of water, hoping to limit any further input expected from him.

"Just a friend," Balthazar says, false modesty, and Cas makes the unfortunate mistake of taking a sip right then. "With benefits."

Cas inhales water.

"Amazing benefits," Balthazar adds to Dean, and then, purposefully misunderstanding Cas' spluttering, "Don't be modest, Castiel."

Cas gives him his very best _you will die now_ glare. It doesn't work.

"Right," Dean says, voice guarded, and shoots Cas an indecipherable look.

"Would that be Dean Winchester?" Balthazar continues blithely, and Cas would kick him if there wasn't the chance of hitting Lady on accident.

"Yeah, I am." Dean says it like a challenge.

"Balthazar," Cas says in warning, and is completely ignored.

"I thought so," Balthazar plows ahead. "We were just talking about you, actually."

"Oh, you were?" Dean spares Cas another look. It's not a friendly one.

"Yes, we were. You are straight, correct?"

By now, Cas has just given up. He puts his hand over his eyes, feels the skin over his cheekbones heating with the spreading blush.

Dean must have nodded, for Balthazar continues. "I thought so. I was wondering. When he said your name, the first time, he did that teenage girl thing."

"Teenage girl thing," Dean echoes, and Cas can feel the weight of his gaze, steady on him now.

"I deal with the breed quite often," the teacher explains. "He said your name the same way your average teenage girl will say, oh, Orlando Bloom. But you're straight, so clearly I misheard."

"Are you done?" Cas asks plaintively.

"What does my being straight have to do with it?" Dean prompts, and now they're both doing it. Cas contemplates just leaving and letting them settle this without publicly humiliating him while they're at it.

"Because it's stupid for him to have a high school crush on a straight man, and Castiel has never done the stupid high school crush thing," Balthazar says, then reaches out and pats Cas' shoulder in a sympathetic way. "I'm done."

"Well, this has been… enlightening," Dean says, and Cas still can't look at him.

"Indeed. It was nice meeting you." And Balthazar dips his chin in a nod to Dean and goes back to the laptop, as if the entire incident hadn't happened. Dean pauses for a moment, presumably looking at Cas, then turns and continues heading up the street.

As he goes, disappearing across the street and into the beginnings of the afternoon crowd, Cas fixes Balthazar with a long, steady, venomous glare.

"That was your idea of behaving?"

"No," Balthazar replies. "Although it was fun. But no, that was my idea of helping."

"Helping." Cas tries the word out, replaying the scene briefly in his mind. "Helping _how_?"

"Sometimes you must be cruel to be kind. Now go."

"What?"

"Go. Get up and go after him."

"Why?" Cas asks, in no mood for Balthazar's crap, and his friend makes a noise of exasperation.

"Complicated human behavior, Cas, that's why. I'll explain it later. Go," he orders, literally pushing Cas out of his chair. "I'll handle the bill and," and here a look of reluctance crawls across his face, "the dog. You, go."

"What should I say?" Cas asks, anger beginning to trade in for panic, and Balthazar laughs.

"Actually, under the circumstances, your complete cluelessness should serve you well. It's endearing, and extremely frustrating." Balthazar points across the street. "_Go_."

Cas goes.

* * *

><p>He loses track of Dean fairly quickly, but it's just as well- he spots the Impala, in the parking lot of a used book store, and heads for it instead. Compared to the sporty hybrids and the two-door mini whatever's surrounding it, the Impala looks like some sort of oversized beast, like the playground bully of the car world.<p>

Cas breaks into a run for the last stretch, because Dean is already there, throwing the bag into the passenger's seat. He swings the door shut with a surprising savageness and starts to head around to the driver's side.

"Dean, wait," Cas calls, and Dean stiffens but doesn't look back. Cas circles the Impala, stopping by the rear tire, watching as Dean purposely doesn't look at him. "I'm sorry about that. He's… not normally that bad."

"Not normally that bad?" Dean rounds on him abruptly, his expression a tangled mess of emotions Cas could never hope to sort out. "And you slept with this guy?"

"Not recently," Cas ground out. He would be offended on Balthazar's behalf if he weren't so annoyed with the man.

"Not recently, as in, not since the wedding not-recent, or what?" It's almost a challenge, as if Dean has any right to know. He advances a step or two, and Cas has never before noticed the height difference between them, but he's feeling it now.

"Since last year," he says. "Why does it matter?"

"God, Cas," Dean says, with a dark wry laugh, "can you honestly be that clueless?"

"Apparently I can," Cas snaps, angry despite himself. "And I am tired of people calling me that."

Dean starts to say something, stops halfway through the first word. He growls and turns away, paces a few strides before turning again. This time he stops by the driver's door and opens it. Then he pauses, staring into the car for a long moment, before sparing a lightning-fast glance at Cas.

Cas can't say what's on his face right now. He can't even properly say what he's feeling. It's apparently effective, though, for Dean once again start-stops his way through the beginning of at least three different sentences.

"I'm sorry if Balthazar upset you," Cas says, pulling himself together and putting his thoughts in order. He sounds stiff and cold, and feels it a little, and Dean gives him a sharp look. Cas steps aside, away from the car, and Dean looks back at the open door.

Then he makes an odd noise, and in one smooth motion, slams the door shut and pushes Cas back against the Impala hard enough to knock the breath out of him, and kisses him.

It's less like a kiss and more like an attack, and it's over before Cas can even begin to process it. Dean jerks away, turns and swears to himself, while Cas focuses on catching his breath.

"Sorry," Dean says, gruff and short. "I didn't mean to- sorry."

Cas puts one arm against the car, pushes himself up a little so he's no longer laying back on it. Dean starts moving away, but before he can get out of reach- and before either of them can ruin this by overthinking it- Cas catches his wrist and pulls him back in for a real kiss.

For a moment Dean is frozen and unresponsive, and Cas starts worrying that he had somehow misread everything, even the kiss- because if anyone could, it would be him. Then Dean makes a soft noise and opens his mouth and kisses back, one hand coming up to wrap around the back of Cas' neck.

They break apart for air eventually. Dean rests his forehead against Cas'.

"So how long you been wanting to do that?" he asks finally, weak humor, and Cas allows himself a smile.

"Since I met you," he admits freely.

There's a brief pause before Dean gestures back the way they came. "He was just jerking me around, wasn't he?"

"Us, I think, not just you."

Dean nods as best he can, then tugs Cas forward a little bit for another kiss. This one is slow and leisurely and Cas lets himself fall into it, Dean's callused fingers gentle on his neck and the Impala's warmth soaking into his back.

Then there's an odd, angry-bee buzzing noise, not the first time it's gone off, and Dean pulls away with a harsh curse. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and backs up half a step.

Sorry, I just," he begins helplessly, and Cas watches as he fumbles to answer it.

"Yeah, what? No, I got it, I just-" Pause. "I ran into someone, Bobby, that's all. I'll be back- what?" Pause again. He rolls his eyes a little bit. "Yeah. I'm on my way. See you."

"You have to go," Cas says, as Dean hangs up, because it's fairly obvious. Dean shrugs one shoulder.

"Sorry. Crappy timing, I know. I'll just- we should-"

"You have my number," Cas points out practically. Dean looks at him, groans a little and kisses him again.

A moment later he jerks away. "Right. Leaving now. I'll call, soon as I'm free."

Cas moves away from the car as Dean gets in.

This time, watching the Impala drive away doesn't feel so much like defeat.

* * *

><p>"You're welcome," Balthazar says as Cas walks up.<p>

"I am not thanking you for that," Cas tells him. Lady, hearing his voice, pops out from under the table and starts dancing on her hind legs in greeting. He crouches down by her to free her leash, then tucks her under one arm.

"I'm not entirely certain you actually understand the general idea," Balthazar says. "You weren't supposed to come back alone. Or at all, really."

"Some people have real jobs." He reaches over, snaps his laptop shut and nearly catches Balthazar's fingers in the process.

Balthazar helps him with the cord, sliding the whole thing into its case. "Need a ride?"

"No, thank you." He shuffles laptop and puppy until he has achieved something resembling balance.

"Always happy to help a friend," Balthazar replies flippantly, and Cas can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. "Just be sure to tell me how it turns out."

Cas pauses, turns back to look at him. After a moment he says, "Yes, by the way, to your earlier question. Sometimes you have so much in common with Gabriel, it scares me."

Balthazar looks more than a little insulted by the comparison, but Cas is gone before he can come up with a reply to that.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: PLEASE NOTE THE RATING CHANGE. It happened for a reason, folks.

Hurrah for emergency dental procedures! I had to completely rewrite this chapter, twice, because apparently Novocain has a subtle but profound effect on my mental processes.

Random Kansas Fact Time: Casey's = old-style gas station found in Kansas. Casey's was serving pizzas and burgers off heating racks long before Quik Trip and 7-11 caught on, all the way back in the seventies. Some people maintain that Casey's, for all that it is a gas station, has better food than most real restaurants.

* * *

><p>Lady, as it turns out, doesn't completely fail as a guard dog. Ten minutes after Dean finally calls- almost seven in the evening by then, but Cas hadn't noticed the time, focused as he was on finishing up the damn wedding thing and getting back to his real job- she perks up her ears to the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. Cas hears it too, doesn't pay much attention- not until the puppy decides to break his eardrums with a screechy bark that could shatter glass.<p>

Once his heart rate has returned to normal and he manages to convince his fingers to unlock from their death grip on the arm of his chair, Cas gets up and heads over to the door. Lady is already there, whining and dancing, running in small circles around the landing at the door. He tries to catch her, to hold her back so she doesn't attempt a mad rush for freedom when he opens the door, but she screech-barks again and charges up the stairs.

He can tell at a glance that something has changed, when he opens the door and sees the look on Dean's face. Time, most likely- time to calm down and think, to either talk or scare himself out of it. Time to let the jealousy or frustration or whatever it had been fueling his actions earlier to burn out and leave him with only doubt and insecurity.

Maybe if it had been someone else, Cas would have let him roll out whatever pathetic excuse he'd come up with. Instead, he waits until Dean opens his mouth, looking like a kid who'd gotten caught stealing the last cookie, then reaches out and catches Dean's wrist, hauling him inside and sending him staggering up the stairs.

"Come on in," he says ironically as he closes the door. Dean manages the last few stairs with considerable more grace than the first half, looking around in obvious surprise.

"This is… kinda nice, actually," he says. Cas doesn't take any offense at the unintended insult, had in fact had an identical reaction when he had first seen the place. Still, Dean winces a little bit, apparently realizing how that sounded, but doesn't attempt an apology.

"You're nervous," Cas observes, moving away as he does so. He gets three steps before a small, compact weight wraps itself around his ankle, sharp little teeth snatching at the hem of his jeans. He doesn't so much as stagger, just bends over and scoops the puppy up on one smooth, practiced move.

"No," Dean says. Cas just looks back at him, polite disbelief, and he shifts his weight a bit. "Maybe. I've never done this before."

"With a guy," Cas finishes for him. Lady starts chewing on his thumb, briefly derailing the conversation. He uses one foot to pull the kennel out from underneath his desk and unceremoniously dumps her inside, rattling the door a little bit to make sure it latches.

"Right," Dean mutters. "Are the rules different?"

Cas fishes his shoes out from under the couch, where he had put them earlier to protect them.

"You are asking the wrong person," he says solemnly. "There's a Casey's down the street. I suggest we go get something to eat."

For a moment Dean looks like he's about to refuse, like he thinks Cas is pandering to him. Then Lady starts whimpering and Dean gives Cas a winning smile.

"Let's go," he says, already halfway to the stairs, and Cas follows, pausing only long enough to put his shoes on.

He manages to shut the door behind him just as the whimpering progresses into full-blown crying.

* * *

><p>Dean is clearly uncomfortable with leaving his car alone in the parking lot, but Cas can't endure another awkward car ride right now, and effectively puts an end to the burgeoning argument by simply walking off. After a moment Dean gives up and jogs after him, following him silently to the Casey's.<p>

"I need your help," Cas says as he heads inside. There's a brief pause in the conversation as Dean's attention is hijacked by the dessert stand. Then he's back, moving towards the real food.

"With what?"

"Getting a car," he says, and when Dean gives him an odd look, he explains. "I don't trust my siblings with this."

"I don't know," Dean muses, taking a cheeseburger of the wire heating rack and unwrapping the paper packaging. "Which one has the Corvette?"

"Gabriel."

"Yeah. Why don't you ask him?"

Cas goes very still, staring at Dean in open shock. Dean pauses in the act of taking a bite to stare back.

After a long moment he snorts a little. "Okay, that's a no."

"I forgot you haven't actually met Gabriel yet," Cas says, shaking off his stupor. "If you had, you would understand."

"He was at the rehearsal," Dean begins, but Cas shakes his head a little bit. "All right, so what's he really like?"

"I cannot describe him," Cas mutters, a bit savagely. "He must be experienced. And with any luck, you will never have to experience him."

He stops halfway up to the counter, watching as Dean goes back over to the desserts and gets himself a piece of apple pie that's less like a slice and more like a quarter of the pie. Dean flashes him a triumphant grin, as if he is somehow proud of his foraging skills, and takes another bite of his burger.

"You pay for your own food," Cas tells him, and Dean shrugs.

"Cheap date," he says, or at least Cas thinks he says. With his mouth full of burger, he's a little hard to understand. Then his eyes go wide and he swallows, chokes a bit. "I didn't mean it like that," he says, once he can breathe properly.

Cas doesn't ask what he means, 'like that'. He turns away instead, so Dean can't see him roll his eyes.

The girl at the counter looks supremely amused by the whole thing. She shoots Cas a smile and a wink as he pays. Then, when Dean goes back to get a plastic fork for his pie, she pats him on the arm.

"Good luck," she says.

* * *

><p>"So how'd you do it?" Dean asks a while later.<p>

Cas glances over at him, takes another drink of the diet Coke he'd gotten. They're walking back from the Casey's, food gone except for the pie Dean is currently worshipping.

"Do what?" he asks, when it seems Dean won't explain on his own. He's trying very hard not to pay too much attention to the noises Dean has been making while eating that pie.

"Y'know. Come out. To your family." He looks at Cas, all earnest green eyes, and sucks on the fork a little and Cas looks away.

"I never did," he says. "Not really. I never saw why it mattered." He doesn't see any reason to try to explain the dysfunctional mess that is his family. Dean won't get it, not without seeing it firsthand.

"Huh." Dean walks beside him in silence for a moment. Then he shifts a bit, a precursor to another question. "But they've figured it out by now, I'm guessing. I mean, how long's it been?"

"Twelve years," Cas says, distractedly, as he thinks it over. Gabriel and Rachel have noticed, that's for sure. Raphael is harder to read- either he doesn't know, or doesn't care, or both. And what Michael knows about anything is anyone's guess.

Dean correctly interprets his silence. "They don't know," he says, half-question, and Cas shrugs.

"I can only assume they've noticed," he says, and Dean stares at him.

"Right. No going to Cas for people advice," he mutters to himself after a moment, and Cas has to bite his tongue to keep from asking if he's really only just figured that out.

The store is closed, the lights off except for the glow of the neon open/closed sign in the window. Cas tugs half-heartedly at the locked door, then sighs and moves to circle around the building. He stops in the back parking lot, standing by the Impala. Dean pitches the empty plastic container once containing the pie into the nearby Dumpster and comes over to him.

"So am I staying or going?" he asks.

"That's up to you," Cas says, arms folding over his chest almost defensively, and he forces himself to relax. Dean starts towards him, stops quickly, licks his lips and looks away. Cas reaches out hesitantly, cups his face with one hand, then pulls him in for a quick kiss.

When Dean fails to react, in any way, Cas shrugs and moves away. He walks over to the door, fishing his keys out of his pocket, and is reaching for the lock when a strong hand lands on his shoulder and spins him around.

Dean tasted like cinnamon and baked apple, and Cas has never been all that fond of apple pie, or any dessert really, but he's starting to see the appeal. He drops the keys, a distant jangle of noise, and pulls Dean in close.

"I think I'll stay, if that's cool with you," Dean says against his lips. Cas nods a bit, and Dean smiles.

It takes a bit of creativity, finding the keys on the ground in the dark, and then there's the stairs, which Dean declares there are too fucking many of and Cas can't help but agree. They make it inside the loft without incident but once inside Cas, trying to go up the stairs in a sideways-backward sort of way, trips on the last step and lands flat on his back. Dean kneels over him, straddling his waist, still kissing like their lives depend on it.

Then Lady lets loose another one of her glass-breaking barks, and Cas jerks sharply in surprise. He closes his eyes and groans as Dean starts to laugh.

"I need to let her out," Cas says, turning his head to look. Lady's kennel is almost bouncing with the puppy's excitement. Dean's reply is to lick at the line of Cas' neck exposed by the new angle, and Cas shudders. "She won't stop, Dean," he says, then gasps as Dean finds a particularly sensitive spot.

"So let her," Dean recommends. "She's not hurting anything."

As he says it, she barks again, and even though he knows it's coming Cas still can't help the instinctive flinch. Dean chuckles again, sighs against his neck, then rolls off Cas and clambers to his feet.

Rather than trying to fight with her, Cas just takes the puppy's kennel and puts it in the guest room before opening the door. He closes the bedroom door behind him, ignoring the _whump_ of an impact against the wood only seconds later.

Dean is standing by the panoramic window, looking out at the slice of city it shows. He glances over at Cas with a lewd grin.

"Is this some sort of subtle hint at a voyeurism kink?" he asks.

"It's tinted. No one can see in." Dean actually looks a little disappointed, but recovers quickly. Still, Cas puts a hand up when he starts moving towards him, stopping him for just a moment, while there's distance between them and they are both still capable of some form of coherent thought.

"Just promise me," he says, solemnly, and Dean looks at him without expression, "that whatever happens, you'll still be here in the morning."

The look of expectation on Dean's face shifts to surprise. " 'Course I will," he says, scoffs really. There is no _of course_ about it, but Cas says nothing, takes him for his word.

Then they're kissing again, and Cas focuses on the right now and works his hand under Dean's shirt. By the time they make it into Cas' bedroom they're both mostly naked. Dean pushes Cas back until he hits the bed, lets himself fall over backwards onto it. He lifts his hips as Dean tugs his boxers down, and then there's a long pause as Dean just stares down at him.

"Dean," he says, warningly, and Dean kneels over him.

"First time, remember?" he replies, tracing his fingers over Cas' chest. He leans down to kiss Cas again as his hands wander, apparently exploring the feel of a male body beneath them. Cas lets him, forcing himself to be patient, his own hands on Dean's neck and shoulder.

It's a slow sort of torture, Cas figures, Dean carefully studying and cataloguing his body while he lays there and does nothing. He twitches and shudders and moans, and every time he reaches out to do some touching of his own, Dean catches his hand.

Then there's a hand on his hip, following the curve down, a ghost of a touch brushing over his cock, and Cas jerks and gasps. His eyes fly open wide and his gaze snaps around to Dean, who grins at him, and Cas decides he's had enough fun. He pulls Dean down on top of him, earning a surprised grunt, and starts doing his own exploring.

It's not long before Dean is panting and rolling his hips in shallow little thrusts. "Okay, Cas," he says. "Uncle, or whatever. C'mon," he adds, almost a whine, and Cas smiles. He rolls them so he's on top, shifts his hips a little. Then he reaches down between them, wrapping his fingers around both their cocks, and Dean lets out a strangled noise and bucks up into his hand.

Dean's hand wraps around Cas', encouraging him to start moving, setting a rhythm. Their mouths find each other again and they kiss almost desperately now, hands moving faster. Cas breaks the kiss, pulling back to watch Dean's face, watch as he pants and gasps, eyes locked on Cas'. Then his eyes go wide and his head jerks back, and it's one of the most beautiful things Cas has seen.

Then he's coming as well.

* * *

><p>He gets up a bit later, goes and gets a washcloth out of the bathroom and lets Lady out of the guest room when she hears him moving around and starts crying.<p>

Dean doesn't take the washcloth so much as Cas drops it on his stomach, letting him do with it what he will. He gently closes the door against the puppy, who probably won't drive them mad so long as she has the rest of the loft to herself, and drops back into bed.

There's a few moments of shifting, two people who know nothing of each other's sleeping habits trying to settle comfortably in the same bed. Cas is too sated and sleepy to care about manners, and simply sprawls out and lets Dean work around him. He smiles a little when he feels Dean's fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo on his shoulder blade.

"Okay, I have got to hear this," Dean mutters.

"I turned twenty-one," Cas says. "Gabriel took me out to celebrate."

"And?"

"And now you know as much as I do," Cas finishes.

Dean chuckles, close enough to Cas that he can feel his breath, cool on sweaty skin. He twitches his shoulders, not quite able to help himself, as Dean moves away.

He would sooner chew off his left hand than admit it, but Cas always falls asleep fastest, and stays asleep longest, when there's someone sharing the bed with him. He waits until Dean is settled, his breathing slow and steady, then rolls over and curls into his side, face pressed against Dean's shoulder.

He's asleep within moments.

* * *

><p>A harsh buzzing noise wakes him up, mostly. He groans, rolls away in protest, pulling a pillow over his head. The noise comes again, a rattling sound that he knows he would recognize if he put any effort into it.<p>

Then the air beside the bed stirs, and the rattling noise changes briefly before stopping entirely.

"Hello?" Dean says, and Cas smiles sleepily into the bedspread, remembering the night before. "He's busy at the moment. What did you-?" Pause. "No, I'm not actually- hang on-"

Cas sticks his hand out expectantly, and a moment later his cell phone is slapped into his palm. He pushes the pillow aside, lifts his head just enough to put the phone to his ear.

"Yeah, what?" he manages, and congratulates himself on that little amount of civility.

"Mister Novak, this is Renee Whitehouse. I'm calling to confirm reservation of the studio on Kentucky."

It takes him a solid thirty seconds to decode that, to remember calling to rent his favorite studio for his next shoot. It doesn't help that Dean has sat down beside him and is tracing the line of his spine up from the small of his back, taking a detour of feather-light touches over his ribs.

"On the twenty-first," he agrees, trying not to moan as the touch becomes heavier and surer.

"You are familiar with our rates?" She sounds chirpy, the sort of person who is paid to be a morning person. Cas would hate her on the spot, but it requires too much concentration to do so, especially with Dean now tracing his lips over Cas' skin.

"Yes, I- I am." His breath catches, words momentarily forgotten, as Dean finds a knot at the base of his neck and digs his thumbs in gently. Cas moans, not caring any more about the conversation, letting the phone fall out of his hand as he goes limp and pliant under those skilled hands.

Dean retrieves the phone with one hand, still working at the back of Cas' neck with the other. "Sorry about that," he says to what's-her-name. He pauses for a moment. "Yeah, I'll tell him. Thanks."

A moment later, the phone goes back on the bedside table and Dean shifts over Cas, trailing kisses up his spine as his hands return to their work.

"She'll call back later," he murmurs against Cas' skin.

"Smart woman," Cas mutters, arching up into Dean's touch. "Why are you dressed?"

"Cops disapprove of public nudity," Dean says. "I went and got breakfast."

Cas turns his head, pulls Dean down for long kiss. Dean groans.

"Cinnamon rolls," he pants. "They'll reheat."

"I don't care," Cas says calmly, focusing now on getting Dean's clothes back off.

As it turned out, they were even better reheated.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Oi, boring chapter. Didn't wanna be written. Doesn't help that I kind of changed direction and so had no idea what this chapter was supposed to accomplish.

No sexy-fun-times in this chapter, but no worries, the smut will return soon enough.

* * *

><p>He only realizes his phone is ringing because he happens to glance over right as the screen lights up with the incoming call. By the time he reaches it, it's already moved over to missed call, and Cas can't help but wince when he sees who he's been accidentally ignoring.<p>

The phone starts ringing again, and he hesitates before answering it. "Rachel, I'm sorry, I-"

"Why aren't you answering?" she interrupts.

"I missed one call," Cas says, frowning in confusion. Before he can ask for clarification, he hears a pounding at the front door.

His sister does not look remotely pleased to see him. She scowls at him, opens her mouth to say something, then stops and looks at him.

"Is that an iPod?" she asks with a befuddled look. Cas glances down at the little gizmo in his hand.

"Yes."

She stares at him for a long moment. "Why do you have an iPod?"

"Because the only other option was sabotaging the CD player in the store's break room," Cas says, stepping aside to let her up the stairs.

"I won't ask," she says after a moment, and Cas shrugs. She'll figure it out in a minute anyways, when the new girl puts on her music downstairs.

"Did you need something?" he asks as he follows her into the living room.

"Do you even know what day it is?" she counters, looking around aimlessly. "And where's the dog?"

"Thursday. Gabriel took her, probably to the park to meet women."

Rachel shakes her head at that. Gabriel's love life is complicated and doesn't tolerate closer scrutiny. His siblings have long ago accepted that he's just weird, and they will never properly understand him, and that he is allowed to meddle in their lives while their doing so in his is forbidden.

"It's Friday, Cas," she tells him, leaving the other half of the conversation behind. "And you have somewhere to be, remember?"

He looks at her in question. Before she can answer, the opening notes of a certain teen heartthrob's latest CD starts drifting up through the floor. Rachel looks down at the carpet, then back up at her brother.

"Well," she says casually, "I understand the iPod now."

"I don't remember agreeing to do anything today," Cas says, running his thumb over the pause button again. Dean had suggested the iPod the morning after he'd spent the night, when Justin Bieber's heavily synthesized voice had done its best to interrupt round three.

"We didn't set the date in specific," Rachel says as she heads over to the couch. "But Sam is back in town, and I'm meeting them for lunch as a sort of follow-up. I asked if you would be there and you said yes."

Presumably he'd agreed to this- if he had agreed at all, Rachel has a way of stretching the truth when it suits her- before he'd started sleeping with Sam's brother. This has 'awkward situation' written all over it. He hesitates, trying to find the best way to gently turn her down, then catches the look on her face and realizes he can't safely do so.

"I'll probably need to bail out early," Rachel continues. "All I need you to do is be there, and not make faces at the romantic mushiness."

"I'll need a ride home," Cas says, already heading towards his bedroom, because Rachel has never deemed a t-shirt and jeans acceptable and he long ago gave up fighting that pointless battle.

"You need a new car," Rachel corrects, raising her voice a little so he can hear her. Cas doesn't point out the flaw in her argument- in the week since his car had died, he hasn't been inconvenienced once by not having a vehicle available.

When he comes back out a minute later, he finds her at the kitchen counter, the empty cinnamon roll box in her hand. She looks at him, part curiosity and part shock. "What's this?"

"Cinnabon," Cas says. "There's one down the street." He has no idea where, is simply taking Dean's word for it.

"I know," she says, and now there's a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "But you don't eat Cinnabon. You wouldn't eat at all, if you could get away with it."

Cas gets his keys- he has no desire to repeat the whole locked-out incident- and studiously avoids looking at her as he starts down the stairs. "Are you coming?"

"You know what worries me?" she asks when she catches up a minute later. He looks at her, polite interest. "You don't change. You wouldn't have a cell phone if it weren't for the fact that ninety percent of the people in this town use texting as their primary method of communication. And now you're eating breakfast and using an iPod? That's huge, for you."

"I eat breakfast sometimes, and the iPod is in self-defense," he explains, gesturing towards the store during the last part. "You're reading too much into it."

"Maybe," Rachel admits. "I'd be really worried if you'd already gotten a new car." She pauses a moment. "Is it anyone I know?"

Cas considers the question. He's not ashamed of this whatever-it-is he has with Dean- it's far too early to be pinning names to it- but he's not keen on dropping this particular bomb on his apparently uninformed sister right now. On the other hand, he's a crap liar.

"Yes," he says, as compromise, and takes his iPod out of his pocket in a none-too-subtle way of ending the conversation.

Rachel, wisely, lets it go.

* * *

><p>The wrap-up meeting is only one aspect of what Rachel calls the 'personal touch', which also includes hijacking her siblings into helping her. Cas has suffered through these meetings before and has the horror stories to prove it- like the one that ended with them getting kicked out of the restaurant after the happy couple had slipped into the store room for a quick makeout session, or that one time where the wife proudly announced they were already pregnant, and had spent the two-hour lunch sitting beside Cas and flipping through a baby name book and pointing out her favorites. That particular encounter had left Cas with a morbid fear of the phrase <em>so what do you think<em>, because what it apparently really means is _now give me your opinion so I can tell you why you're wrong_.

Sam and Jess hadn't really struck him as that sort, though, which meant instead that this was just going to be really boring.

They meet at the restaurant, a cute little café on the edge of town, out where the locals live and the students rarely venture. Rachel tries to make Cas leave his iPod in the car but he refuses, and when she starts to argue he walks off- it worked well against Dean, the other night, and it works again, and Cas realizes he has a new tactic in sibling warfare. He balks at the door, lets Rachel head inside before him as he pulls out his cell phone.

"I'm having lunch with your brother," he says without preamble, when Dean answers. He's at work, and is presumably busy, but Cas isn't the clingy sort who needs to call every fifteen minutes, so when he does call- all of two times, so far- Dean answers pretty quickly.

"Okay," Dean replies, a little blankly. "Why?"

"Rachel," Cas tells him, glancing through the café's glass front. Rachel is talking to one of the waiters, not sparing a single look back at him. "It's one of her things."

Dean seems to be waiting for this conversation to start making sense, while Cas doesn't really know how to phrase this. Ideally, he would have skipped this whole lunch thing, but Rachel refuses to go to these alone- she has her own horror stories, and finds it easier to handle things, or make excuses and flee, when she has backup. And Raphael is busy, and Gabriel too uncontrollable.

"Is there something you would like me to say to him? Or not say?" he asks finally, still groping blindly for the proper words.

"I dunno," Dean says, sounding distant, like he's put Cas on speakerphone while he does something else. "Probably not gonna come up, so why bother?"

"Your brother is not stupid, Dean," Cas says patiently. "He'll figure it out eventually."

There's a brief pause. Then Dean, sounding much closer, says, "We're not talking about just lunch anymore, are we?"

Cas isn't any more comfortable with this topic than Dean, and so dodges the lead-in. "You're right, it shouldn't come up. I was asking just in case."

"And just in case, what would you say?" It sounds like a challenge, but Cas knows Dean well enough by now to know it's just a front, a façade- although a front to cover what, he can't yet tell.

"I won't lie to your brother for you, Dean," Cas says somberly, as the waiter walks away and Rachel turns and gestures to him.

"Didn't ask you to."

"I have to go," he says, because this conversation started out awkward and is verging now on hostile. As far as he's concerned, the brothers Winchester can sort this out between themselves. Cas isn't getting caught in the middle of this.

"Have fun," Dean says, teasing, knowing full well Cas isn't going to enjoy anything that forces him to be in other people's company for any length of time.

Rachel is starting to look impatient, and the waiter has returned, menus in hand. Cas gives Dean a grunt, acknowledging his drollery even if he won't rise to it, and hangs up. Then he takes a deep, bracing breath, and heads inside.

* * *

><p>Sam remembers his name- not surprising, considering the whole pseudo-bachelor-party thing- but Jess has to be prompted. Cas himself needs a kick in the shin from Rachel to remember he should stand to greet the newcomers.<p>

Lunch is as mind-numbingly boring an affair as he'd feared. Cas spends most of the time picking at his sandwich, listening with one ear to the conversation around him. He'd eaten the last cinnamon roll this morning, and Rachel hadn't been wrong, earlier, when she'd said he wouldn't bother eating at all if it weren't for the inconvenience of starving. His plans for today, food-wise, had been either the leftover pizza in the fridge or whatever fast food restaurant was in distance if he felt like walking. Or whatever Dean brought, should he come over, for he's always good to eat and figured out very early on that if he wanted food, he needed to bring it himself.

And Dean is right- he's never mentioned, until Cas himself goes and steps in it.

The meal is over, the two women chatting about some girly thing, they're waiting for the bill, and all is well, until Sam, checking his phone for the time or missed calls or whatever, says to himself, "Guess I'll need Dean's new number."

"Do you even know where he is?" Jess asks.

"Nebraska, probably," Sam says.

At the same time, eyes fixed on their waiter as he approaches with their bill and brain quite obviously absent, Cas says, "He's still here."

There's an odd sort of silence. Naturally, it doesn't last long.

"And how do you know that?" Rachel half-demands, cutting Sam off at the pass. Rather than risk a look at his sister or prolong the waiter's presence by dithering over splitting the bill, Cas holds out his credit card without bothering to take the bill. The waiter takes it and turns smartly on his heel.

"He works for your friend Bobby now," he tells Sam. Then, to Rachel, "He was the one who helped me when my car broke down." And please God let that be the end of it, he thinks, cursing himself. Normally remembering to think before he opens his mouth isn't a problem.

But Rachel knows him too well, hears what he isn't saying. Her eyes go wide and she makes a dismayed noise deep in her throat. He can almost hear what she carefully refrains from saying, the disappointment and the pity in her tone as she says it. He looks away from her, to Sam who isn't much better, looking at Cas as he is with a calculating expression. Cas doesn't know how much Dean had said to Sam, before he'd left, but Sam has obviously noticed _something_.

Dean is going to have a field day with this- Cas can go twelve years without bothering to tell his family that he's gay, but apparently can't last an hour without mentioning Dean. And now, Rachel is very visibly brewing a scathing lecture on his choice of playmates- her words, not his- and Sam is looking like a similar chat might not be that far off in Dean's future. He wonders idly how he can be so painfully transparent to these people, when most find him about as easy to read as a statue.

Then the waiter returns, and Cas takes long enough working out the tip and adding it all up that one might think he's counting it all out on his fingers like a six-year-old. In the meantime Jess, who has at best only half an idea of what's going on, starts talking about something else- Cas isn't sure what, but he doesn't hear Dean's name and so relaxes a bit.

It takes a good twenty minutes for them to leave, even after that. They hover by the door, making the waiter who would be the maître d' in an actual restaurant nervous. Cas contemplates pulling out his iPod, but decides against it- he will undoubtedly need it for the ride home, to prevent the lecture. So he stands vaguely by, shifting his weight restlessly, trying to find some socially acceptable way to say _can we go now?_

As they're heading to the car, saying their final goodbyes, Sam catches his eye.

"See you around," he says, and oh yeah, Dean's gonna be hearing about this.

Cas slides into the passenger seat of the car, spares his sister a glance and tries not to flinch at the look she's giving him.

"Don't you dare," she says when he starts to slip his hand into his pocket to retrieve his iPod. He decides not to risk it, at least until they're within tolerable walking distance of his loft. Instead he waits, more or less patiently, for his sister to pass judgment.

"Why?" she asks finally. "Is it some rebellion thing? Did we accept your career, your being gay, too easily, so this is all you have left to shock us with?"

"It's not about you, either you personally or the family," Cas says, trying not to say 'the family' as someone in _The Godfather_ would say it. Not that his family isn't a little Mafia-ish at times.

"He's a jerk," Rachel snaps.

"So am I, sometimes," Cas replies, and there's nothing she can say to that, because it's true.

"So that's what you like," she says instead. "Self-centered pricks. And here I was hoping that thing with Balthazar was a fluke."

"Glad you approve," Cas says dryly, and Rachel sighs. She reaches over and puts her hand over his.

"Sweetie," she begins, and he recognizes this as an apology for whatever feathers she may have ruffled, for no one in his family uses pet names like that, "I'm just worried, all right? It's allowed. And don't worry, I won't do anything. I learned a long time ago not to bother trying to run your life for you."

She had indeed learned that. The family stubborn streak, bred bone-deep in all five children, runs strongest in Cas. During his childhood, whenever Rachel had taken it upon herself to tell him to do something, he simply ignored her and went about doing whatever he pleased. She had taken the hint and given up before he'd hit the double digits.

"How long have you two been- seeing each other?" she asks, faltering mid-sentence. Cas gives her a warning look.

"Three or four days," he says after a moment.

Rachel makes a noise, one that sounds like censure, thankfully suppressed.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she says, once all hint of disapproval has been purged from her tone.

He doesn't bother asking her what she thinks he wants out of this. In this regard, he's more like the carefree Gabriel. Settling down just isn't his style.

"Is it done?" he asks, when Rachel makes the turn onto Massachusetts. Rachel gives him a confused look, so he explains. "The wedding thing."

"Yes," she says. "I've got the pictures ordered- it would be a lot easier if you did that yourself- so it's done."

She pulls into the parking lot, stopping abruptly. Both the car's passengers stare at the only occupied spot in the lot- more specifically, at the acid-green Corvette filling the spot.

"Well, I would offer to come up and help, but I'd probably only make it worse," Rachel says.

"He's returning the dog," Cas says, feeling absolutely no desire to get out and go face his brother. Gabriel will be as bad as Rachel, in some ways, worse in others. Cas had managed to avoid anything resembling a conversation earlier because he'd practically thrown Lady at Gabriel and slammed the door shut behind her. There's no avoiding this one, though.

The new girl, whose name Cas hasn't yet learned, is still at the register. She looks annoyed, and gives Cas a dark look. It isn't until he's halfway up the stairs that he realizes she isn't playing her music. Gabriel is good for something, it seems, although what he'd done to earn this silence, Cas doesn't want to know.

Lady starts barking right before he reaches the door, and he calls her name, trying to shut her up. It works, mostly- she stops barking, although her whimpers and the scrabbling of her claws on the door only increase. She tumbles out onto his feet when he gets the door open, and trips on his heels as she follows him back inside.

Gabriel is waiting for him in the middle of the living room, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. Cas eyes him warily. He hasn't seen Gabriel's whole innocent routine in a while, and rarely likes what follows when he does see it.

"So you remember the morning of the wedding," Gabriel says, as if continuing a conversation they were in the middle of. "I gave you a ride, you said you'd owe me one?"

"Within reason," Cas reminds him.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I might be needing to call that in."

Cas waits. Gabriel hesitates, unsure of himself, and if anything that's even more worrying.

"My landlord and I had a bit of a disagreement," he says finally, and Cas doesn't bother biting back his groan.

"No."

"And now I need a place to crash for a few days," Gabriel rolls on, regardless. "And Raphael and I would kill each other, and Rachel and me…." He pauses for a moment to consider it. "Well, we'd kill each other."

"No, Gabriel."

"And you and me, we're not much better, but it'd take you a while longer to reach the kill-each-other point."

"You got a dog, gave it to me even though I didn't want her, and shamed me into keeping her," Cas says. "And now you're giving me another roommate?"

"Three days," Gabriel replies. "Three days, and if his little hissy fit hasn't blown over, I'll go get a hotel room or something."

Cas wants to tell him to go get one now, but he knows Gabriel can't really afford it, and knows better than to offer to pay for it himself.

"I'll even take a hike when your boyfriend shows up," his brother continues, and Cas gives him a sharp look. Gabriel merely points wordlessly to the Cinnabon box on the counter.

Maybe Cas is a little too predictable, if his siblings can all tell he's had someone staying over the past few nights because of one cinnamon roll box.

Dean has a brother of his own, Cas reminds himself. If nothing else, he'll understand why Cas never really had a choice.

"Three days," he says, and Gabriel starts grinning. "And that's it."

"You won't regret it," Gabriel promises.

"Of course I will," Cas shoots back. "I already do."

Gabriel shrugs it off, heads past Cas and down the stairs, presumably to go get his stuff from his car. Cas takes the free moment to call Dean, but the phone rings through to voice mail. He doesn't bother leaving a message.

Lady, standing at the top of the stairs like some tiny fierce guardian, looks at him and wags her tail a little. Then her head snaps back around at the sound of Gabriel on the stairs outside, singing some unidentifiable song, and she starts barking. Cas sighs and rubs at his temples.

This ought to be interesting.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Getting back on track, story-wise. Sorry updates have been so far apart, but real life is a bitch. Also, I got an idea for a new story that demanded I start writing it right-the-fuck-now. I now have big chunks of it written out, and am trying to find some sort of coherency and connection between them. So, new story up soon, maybe.

* * *

><p>"You know what's really interesting?" Gabriel says. Cas can mostly see him, leaning against the wall of the stairwell, still trying to control his breathing, the cardboard box braced against one shoulder. This had been easy at first- the box is heavy, but not extremely, its awkward dimensions the true hindrance. Then they had had to maneuver around the corner, and the easy had vanished.<p>

"That you've been here for four hours and already have a candy tab in the store?" Cas counters. He's breathing easier than his brother, but then he's only been guiding and opening doors. Gabriel's been doing most of the real work.

"I just love how you save all the hateful for me," Gabriel shoots back. "I've given up telling Rachel how bitchy you can be. She never believed me."

Cas rolls his eyes. "What's interesting, Gabriel?" he asks flatly, not even bothering with the fake-curious tone.

"I think I'm starting to get you."

"Excuse me?" Cas replies, honestly confused.

"Why you do the things you do. There's actual reasoning behind it, aside from the blanket excuse that you're batshit crazy."

"It's a family trait," Cas says, not quite able to help himself.

"Again with the hateful," Gabriel says. Cas stubbornly keeps his mouth shut, refusing to apologize for what had started with an insult to him. "It's like you're reading pages out of _The Cyborg's Guide to Being Human_. You say to yourself, one day, 'what do normal humans do with their spare time?'"

Cas heads up the stairs as Gabriel talks, opens the door to his loft. They'd at least had the foresight to stick Lady in her kennel, one less thing to worry about. He can hear her whimpering from the guest room.

" 'Oh, I know!'" Gabriel continues. " 'They watch TV.' And so you go to the store and tell some lucky salesman you want a TV. And because you're you, with basically no understanding of reality and buckets of money, the salesman talks you into getting the most expensive piece of hardware in the store."

"Not _the_ most expensive," Cas protests mildly. He rests his left arm on top of the box for a moment, flexing his sore wrist carefully. The bruise is already spreading over the pale skin. He looks up, catches sight of Gabriel watching him with guilty eyes. Then Gabriel notices him and shoots him a quick, breezy smile.

"Right, the second most expensive. And you buy it, because it's the normal human thing to do, and take it home, and then you get to the stairs and realize that there's no way in hell you're getting it up there by yourself, and normal humans are all idiots anyways, and you stow it in the storage room downstairs instead."

"Is that so." Cas tips the box over, ever so slightly, so it's no longer leaning against the wall. Gabriel leans forward with it with a long sigh, turns and begins pushing it up the stairs again. Cas goes up the stairs backwards, mostly just there to make sure it doesn't fall or slip backwards and squash his brother. He would prefer to help out more, had been doing so before, but Gabriel had accidentally dropped the heavy box, and it had given Cas' wrist a vicious twist.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Gabriel challenges, as Cas works his foot under the box and pushes it up the step it had gotten caught on.

"You're wrong," Cas replies distractedly, catching the box with his good hand as it tries to tip over. As he straightens it back up, he looks up and meets Gabriel's disbelieving gaze.

"All right then," he grinds out, pushing the box up another three steps through apparent sheer force of will alone. "How am I wrong?"

"I have never in my life used the phrase 'normal humans'," the younger man says evenly.

"Uh huh. Here's the real test: why get a TV?"

"Why?" Cas echoes, glancing back at him.

"Yeah. It's a sixty-inch LED, Cas, and you left it sitting in a storage room for three months. That's a thousand dollar paperweight. A bit extreme, even for you."

Cas can't argue with that. Nor can he answer the question without proving Gabriel right. The thought process had not gone like that, of course, but the basic idea was pretty much dead-on.

They're in the loft proper by now, which Cas doesn't realize until he tries to go up another step only to find there isn't one. He stumbles backward until his back impacts the wall, dragging the TV with him and nearly yanking Gabriel off his feet.

"Are we there?" his brother asks plaintively.

"Yes," Cas answers, slowly lowering the box so it's lying flat on the ground. Gabriel comes up the last few stairs around it and scoots it along the floor until it's in the middle of the living room.

"I have nowhere to put it," Cas says.

"You mean like a stand?" Gabriel sits on the floor beside the box, rubs one hand across his forehead. "We'll worry about that tomorrow. For now the floor will do. I need a beer."

"I'll get it," Cas says, since he's still on his feet. Gabriel sends him a lightning-fast glance, a guilty hangdog look, and it's so not like Gabriel to feel guilty for anything that Cas simply doesn't know how to process this. Gabriel's pranks have ended in pain before, even blood sometimes, and a visit to the ER on one or two notable occasions. Every single time, it was very visibly all Gabriel could do to keep himself from laughing. One bruised, slightly twisted wrist that didn't even need ice shouldn't be getting this sort of a reaction.

He heads downstairs rather than try to deal with it. The girl behind the counter, who had gotten her afternoon entertainment by listening to the brothers fight the TV, spares him a single glance before returning to her magazine and her aggressive gum chewing. She thinks Cas is the one who sabotaged her music, though how Gabriel managed to swing that Cas will never know, and is determined to treat him like the philistine he so obviously is.

The store doesn't have Gabriel's favorite brand, but it has the classic Bud Light. Cas thunks the six-pack down on the counter and gets his wallet out of his pocket.

"ID please," the girl says, not looking up from her magazine. Cas eyes her for a moment, wondering if this is some passive-aggressive attempt to annoy him. He pulls his driver's license out of its slot and places it on the counter next to the money. And waits. After a solid forty seconds, the girl tears herself away from the rag she's reading and picks up his license, giving it a cursory glance-over before tossing it back down and taking the money.

Before he can see what new form of annoyance she can come up with, Cas hears the familiar throaty rumbling of an engine outside. He's out the door before the engine shuts off, standing beside the Impala before the driver's door swings open. Dean barely manages to make it to his feet before Cas is kissing him, almost desperately.

"Bad day?" Dean asks, when Cas lets him breathe again.

Cas considers it for a moment. "Not one I would care to repeat," he says finally. Because he's leaning against Dean, who is in turn leaning against the car, he feels the laugh more than hears it, a short huff of breath and a hitch in Dean's chest.

"So, yes," he interprets. Cas reluctantly pushes away, heading back into the store.

"You're getting beer?" Dean asks, incredulous, as Cas moves back over to the counter. He takes his change and the six pack, not looking at the girl as she pointedly doesn't look at them.

"My brother is staying with me for a few days," he says. At Dean's confused look, he continues. "Gabriel. He says he had a bit of a disagreement with his landlord."

"Which means…?"

"I didn't ask," Cas mutters darkly. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, spares Dean a glance.

"You still don't want me meeting him, huh?" Dean says. Cas sighs, rubs at his forehead with his free hand.

"You remember the thing with Balthazar, at the café," he says. It's not really a question. When Dean snorts and nods, he continues. "This will be worse. Balthazar was trying to help, in his own way. Gabriel… will not."

"All right," Dean says slowly. He doesn't look like he quite believes it, doesn't understand how Gabriel can get, but is willing to take Cas at his word. "Should I just go, then?"

"No," Cas blurts, the word snapping out before he can stop it, panic lacing his voice. "I'll be back down in a minute."

Dean smiles a little, puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. Cas turns and heads upstairs.

Gabriel has been busy, Cas finds. In the three or so minutes he had been downstairs, his brother had gone to work unpacking the TV, which apparently was something of a challenge. The box is mangled, like a weed whacker had been taken to it, Styrofoam scattered in chunks and crumbs across the carpet.

"I'll clean it up," Gabriel says, not even looking up at him. Cas says nothing in reply to that, merely walks over and puts the beer down next to his brother.

"I'm going out," he says. "I don't know when I'll be back."

"All right then, dear," Gabriel shoots back, a chillingly good impersonation of their mother. Cas fights back a shiver as he heads towards the door.

"This is a college town," Dean says as he turns to follow Cas out. "So there's got to be something like a thousand make-out spots around, right?"

"I wouldn't know," Cas replies. "I can only assume so." He doesn't need to look back to know Dean's grinning. "Not that it matters, as we _are not_ having sex in your car."

"Yeah, we'll see," Dean says breezily.

* * *

><p>The good thing about a college town, Cas has long ago noticed, is its resilience. Always thriving, economy-wise, and filled with small town mom-and-pop shops that hold their own against the commercialized competition. One of those is a soft-serve place that Cas had discovered a few years ago and stopped by fairly regularly. Ice cream isn't Dean's thing, not like pie is, but he's still happy after getting the most calorie-riddled item on the menu.<p>

"Why'd you let your brother move in if you don't trust him?" Dean asks, around a mouthful of whipped cream. Cas picks a stray peanut off his own sundae and flicks it away.

"He's my brother," he says with a helpless little shrug. "And I have no doubt he would have camped out on the front sidewalk if I said no."

He watches in silence as the door to the ice cream shop opens and a young woman herds in a half dozen children. After a moment he catches Dean's eye, and they both stand and move towards the door.

"And he's there for three days?" Dean continues as they head out. One of the children gives a shriek like a cat with a stepped-on tail and a game of full-contact tag begins.

"So he says," Cas answers. "It could be longer. I suppose I should find out what he did to upset his landlord."

Dean makes a humming noise of agreement and licks obscenely at the chocolate sauce dripping down the side of the plastic container. Cas does his best to ignore him.

"And what about your brother?" he asks, refusing to respond to Dean's blatant baiting.

"Talked to him earlier," comes the response after a moment. "Nothing interesting. Should there have been?" The last part is sharper than the rest, eyes cutting to Cas in a quick glance, seduction attempts put aside briefly.

"You were mentioned," Cas admits.

"By…?" Dean prompts.

"Sam, actually," Cas says. They head down the street, aimed more or less for the Impala. "Like I said earlier, he's not stupid, Dean. He's probably already figured it out."

"And if he figures it out, what then?" Dean's question seems more for himself than his companion, so Cas keeps quiet, focusing on his ice cream instead. He remembers the day he found this store, telling Gabriel he liked their sundaes, Gabriel's sarcastic reply of _hallelujah you're human after all_.

"You know, if one of us was a woman, this is where we'd be having the 'so where are we going with this' talk," Dean tells him.

"Where _are_ we going with this?" Cas counters, honestly curious as to Dean's answer.

"Hell, I don't know," Dean says, accidentally flicking his spoon and spattering Cas with melted ice cream. "Sorry."

Two can play at this game. Cas licks the ice cream droplets off his fingers. "I'm not particularly interested in anything long term," he says.

"Me neither," Dean agrees. Cas dips his spoon into his ice cream.

"So we go where it takes us," he says philosophically. The spoon slips a bit, his thumb smearing with hot fudge.

"Sounds good to me." Dean runs his own spoon along the bottom of the empty plastic dish, scooping up the last few drops. "That was easy."

Cas allows himself a smile. He sucks gently on his chocolate-stained thumb, getting every last molecule of the fudge. Dean's hand wraps around his wrist a moment later, pulls his hand down. "And now you're doing that on purpose."

"You started it," Cas protests mildly, meeting Dean's dark gaze.

"No, you started it. Then you said no car sex. So stop teasing." He lets go and moves away, picking up the pace a bit and staying ahead so he doesn't have to look at Cas.

The storefronts are curbside, with no parking available in front, so getting back to the car means circling the block. It's a nice evening, the sun reduced to a coppery half-ball on the western horizon, the eastern sky already velvet blue and picked out with stars. The nightly storms that typically haunt Kansas throughout the month of April have mellowed, the stifling heat of summer yet to begin. The breeze is just strong enough to set the windchimes jingling. One of those quiet, pleasant moments that is rarely remembered, but manages to make life worth living. Cas walks along at a sedate pace, forcing Dean to match him or leave him behind, enjoying the peace.

He works at his ice cream until there's nothing left except for a thick layer of fudge at the very bottom. He eyes it contemplatively, considering if it's worth trying to eat the fudge without any ice cream to thin it out. Dean turns back, starts to say something but stops. He watches as Cas pokes his spoon at the lake of fudge.

They're in the parking lot by now, making their way to the black gleam of the Impala. The lot is well-lit but Dean had parked away from any lights, leaving his beloved car deep in shadows.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Dean asks abruptly, the first bit of conversation between them for almost five minutes now, and Cas considers it. He scoops up half a spoonful of the fudge and puts it in his mouth.

It's not quite as bad as trying to choke down a mouthful of peanut butter, but it's close. He shakes his head, looking around for a trash can to pitch the plastic dish in. Dean takes it and heads off, and Cas works at swallowing the fudge while he's gone.

Then Dean is back, and pulls Cas in for a quick kiss.

"You're kinda pathetic," Dean says. His warm smile and affectionate tone keep Cas from taking too much offense. Cas merely pulls him back in, wincing a little when his wrist gives a twinge of pain. They move with the kiss, until Dean backs into the Impala, and pushes Cas away just a bit.

"Does this mean you're reconsidering the whole no-car-sex thing?" he asks.

"They do actually arrest people for things like that here," Cas answers. "And I don't want to end my day in jail." Still, he doesn't back away, and when Dean moves in for another kiss Cas meets him halfway.

They stay there for some unknown time, wrapped up in each other, just making out like a couple of high school kids, until a car drives past, its headlights sweeping over them. The driver lays on the horn obnoxiously- they offended somebody, Cas thinks, and can't be bothered to care.

"You know the great thing about cars," Dean says, when the jerk has moved on. "They can go other places."

"Like where?" Cas asks.

"Like some empty back road, like that one where I found you."

"Dean-"

"Or the lake."

"No."

"Promise we won't get arrested." Dean gives him a charming, hopeful smile. Cas rolls his eyes, looks off to his left before pinning his gaze back on Dean.

"We had better not," he says finally.

* * *

><p>It's about two in the morning when Cas gets home.<p>

The city is caught in ethereal silence of the early morning, too early for those working dawn jobs to be up and about. In student housing areas, parties would be just now reaching their last high note before breaking up, in the main city itself, bars settling in for the last hour or two of business. Cas doesn't quite dare to break the quiet, heading around to the back door and up the stairs in silence. Even Lady is quiet, although she still greets him at the door.

Gabriel is lying on his back on the living room floor, a cushion pulled off the couch and tucked under his head. The TV is fully set up and apparently working, the PS3 Gabriel had somehow rescued from his apartment before his unceremonious exile hooked up to it. Cas steps over his brother and heads back to his bedroom.

"Left your cell phone here," Gabriel says when Cas is almost at his door.

"I know," Cas replies evenly.

"Did you have fun?"

"Good night, Gabriel," Cas says, and closes the door firmly behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: That awkward moment when someone recs a story to you with the warning that it hasn't been updated in a year, and it turns out it's your story.

I AM VERY SORRY.

On the other hand, rereading it did serve to remind me how much I love this 'verse and how much I can't let it go, so, um, have some more? And I won't let it die again, I promise. If I do, feel free to kick my ass.

* * *

><p>He's mostly zoned out, sipping methodically at his coffee and staring at something a million miles away, when Anna finds him. She says his name a few times- he realizes this a moment later, but doesn't hear it just then- and then touches his arm and reflexively jerks away when he jumps.<p>

"Sorry," he says, checking to make sure he hadn't spilled any coffee on her.

"You know," Anna says after they've both had a moment to calm down, "I've never had to tell _you_ to focus. Bit of a role reversal, actually."

Cas sighs and moves past her, putting his empty coffee cup- and how long had he been standing there, drinking from an empty mug?- on the table beside the coffee maker and picking up the camera he had put there earlier. Anna follows at a distance, arms wrapped around herself almost defensively.

"All right, what's wrong?" she demands after a moment, while he scans over the pictures he's got so far.

"Nothing," he replies automatically, long-honed denial instinct kicking in, then catches the look she gives him and corrects himself. "Nothing to worry about. I'm having…" He groans, pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes. "My brother is staying with me for a few days."

"Ah," she says knowingly, nodding, and moves over so she's leaning against the table right beside him.

"He says he had a disagreement with his landlord," Cas explains, as if he really needs to defend himself to her.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," he admits, "but their last _disagreement_ was over whether or not it was legal to shoot at squirrels out the window with a paintball gun. I don't want to know what he did this time." He spares her a sideways glance, notices that she doesn't seem to be all that at ease herself. "Looking forward to graduating?"

"Yes," she says, too quickly, and Cas waits. "Maybe. I guess so." She pauses again, turns to face him properly. "I'll probably be moving away after graduation. I know you're not all that interested in the whole social networking thing, but you will keep in touch." It's a statement of fact, not a request.

He glances at her again, noting for the first time the terrycloth robe she's bundled up in. "You can get dressed," he says, and she heads off to do so.

He's going to genuinely miss her, he thinks. It's not exactly in-character for him- he knew from the very beginning that he was going to be dealing with college kids a lot, transient creatures by nature, and nothing would be gained by getting too attached- and he doesn't quite know how to process it.

"You need a ride home?" Anna calls out a few minutes later, walking out of the back room as she scrapes her hair back into a ponytail. She's fiddling with her phone and winding a stray tendril of hair around her finger, corkscrew-tight. Cas watches her for a moment.

"Yes," he says finally. Then, because she's been edgy all afternoon, "Are you all right?"

"It's graduation week," she says with a wry little smile. At his blank look, she explains. "You're not the only one with family in town. Or family issues."

He doesn't bother to point out that his family is always in town.

Anna's car is one of those dinky little hybrids not designed to seat anyone over the height of five-foot-six. Cas sinks as low as he can in the passenger seat, carefully eying the ceiling that is barely three inches above his head, and decides that he really needs to get his own car even as he acknowledges that he probably won't. Come winter he might feel differently, but for now everything he needs is within walking distance, and so far anyone who needs him for whatever reason has proven willing to come get him.

"Have you talked to Dean at all since the wedding?" Anna asks suddenly, when they're almost at the loft.

"Yes," Cas says, because he has, but doesn't quite know how to elaborate. Before he can find the words, she's talking again.

"You two getting along better now?" she continues.

Another person might have started laughing. Cas merely gives it a moment's consideration before nodding once. Because, really, what could he have said? _Well, the sex is great, does that count?_

Then his eye catches on something, a brilliant splash of color contrasted nicely against a black background. Considerably more calmly than he actually feels, he sits up as much as he can and reaches back to grab his camera bag.

"The set will be ready in a day or two," he says shortly, angry and terrified and trying not to take it out on her. "Let me know when you have the time to look it over."

Anna stops the car in the parking lot entrance, staring at the stark contrast of sleek sexy green against powerful behemoth black. "Is that a '67 Impala?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes," Cas says, and now he's veering back and forth from angry and terrified to wildly uncomfortable. It's an emotional seesaw he doesn't much care for. He reaches for the door handle.

"As in, the car Dean drives," Anna continues, lifting her foot off the brake and letting her car roll forward a bit to keep Cas from escaping.

"Yes," he says again, jaw tight.

"You sly dog," she says, and after a moment, far less amused and all horrified sympathy, "And your brother's Corvette. Oh."

"Yes," Cas says one more time. "Oh."

Anna stops the car again, this time relatively close to being in a parking spot.

"Well, if you need backup, just call," she says. Cas nods once and slides out of the car, too focused on not hitting his head on the doorframe to notice Anna slides out as well. She circles the car and wraps her arms around him tight and burrows her face against his shoulder.

Cas freezes, which he's fairly sure is not standard procedure for a hug. Thankfully Anna knows better than to expect more from him.

"I'll miss you," she says to his collarbone. She pulls away a little bit and rises up onto her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "I will never know anyone else quite like you."

"This is probably for the best," Cas agrees solemnly. He puts his hand on her shoulder and opens his mouth but doesn't know what to say. Anna solves that problem by pulling his head down, resting her forehead against his, just breathing each other in. Then she gently, playfully, pushes him away.

"Go," she says. "Before they murder each other. Or Gabriel doses him with saltpeter."

Cas goes.

* * *

><p>He walks into a war, literally.<p>

"Ha!" Dean barks as the TV blares with sixty inches of bloody, explosive murder. "Eat lead, you little bitch."

"Says the man who brought a machine gun to a tank fight," Gabriel replies, hunching over the controller as his regenerated character jogs for a tank conveniently situated smack in the middle of their field of battle. He's lying on his stomach on the floor, Lady perched on his back like she's on a flying carpet, Dean on the couch behind him. "Pull up a controller, Cas," he offers jovially, and adds as an aside to Dean, "He's terrifyingly good at games like these. I think it's because he's actually a repressed serial killer and this is the only way he can safely vent his homicidal urges."

"Hey, Cas," Dean calls, surprisingly calm for a man who is running for dear life.

"Dean," Cas says in greeting. "Why are you here?"

"Got a text, thought it was from you," Dean says, his tongue sticking ever so slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he leans into the next turn as if that will make his character run faster.

"Cas don't text," Gabriel says, a note of triumph in his voice. "Not if he knows you'll answer the phone if he calls."

Cas closes his eyes and slides his fingertips up under the nosepiece of his glasses to massage at the bridge of his nose. "I left my phone here last night," he says in sudden realization. "And you snooped."

"I was concerned," Gabriel says in heartfelt protest, which probably would have seemed a good deal more sincere if he could actually bother to look tear his eyes away from the TV screen and look at his brother.

"Do I need to change my phone number?" Dean asks.

"You probably should," Cas says.

"Rationally concerned," Gabriel stresses. "My brother is sleeping with a stranger I've only met once. I am allowed to be concerned."

"I've never met Kali," Cas points out. Gabriel laughs, a surprisingly dark, cynical sound.

"Kid, she would eat you alive," he says, and something in his tone permits no disagreement.

Then his tank explodes.

"What the- how the hell did you do that?" he demands as Dean crows triumphantly, and Cas suddenly understands. As the Vikings had drinking contests and the Romans wrestling, this is merely Gabriel's way of testing Dean's mettle. Which is a terrifying thought, really, but is far better than the alternative. Gabriel is fairly infamous in their little town for getting one of Rachel's boyfriends drunk and sending him, via a senior citizen tour bus, to Montana.

Cas can't really judge him for that one, though. He'd helped, after all. But the boyfriend in question had been a two-timing dick, and the only men in Rachel's life allowed to treat her like anything less than a goddess are her brothers.

"Don't break anything," he orders, and retreats to his computer.

* * *

><p>An hour later Cas is attempting not to hover around Dean in the kitchen, as he's already gotten snapped at once for doing so. He's curious, though. He has precious little in the ways of cooking skills himself, never saw the need for it when there were grocery stores and restaurants with pre-made meals just out his front door, and he wants to know what Dean considers 'real food'.<p>

"Your brother is kinda psychotic," Dean says, sucking briefly on a scalded finger as he stirs the spaghetti into the boiling water. Spaghetti and meatballs, Cas, c'mon, it's not _that_ hard, he'd said. And Cas had said _show me_.

"I tried to warn you," Cas says. He slithers around behind Dean as the other man heads for the sink and peers into the gently bubbling pot of sauce, then picks up the wooden spoon lying on the counter and starts to reach it into the pot for a taste.

"Give me that," Dean orders. He takes the spoon away and physically herds Cas back, using his broader frame to great effect. "You're worse than Sammy," he says, all exasperated fondness.

Cas gives him a kiss, because it seems like the appropriate response, then another. Dean settles one hand on Cas' hip, his fingers working up under the hem of Cas' shirt.

"How long's Gabriel's shift last?" Dean asks, and Cas almost snorts. Gabriel had left a bare half hour ago and Dean is nearly whining, like they're having to steal away to make out in the closet or something instead of having eight solid hours of brother-free time.

"Until midnight," he says. "What about you?"

"I open tomorrow," Dean says in faint irritation, chin tucked against Cas' collarbone as he mouths at Cas' neck. "Gotta get up early. And you," and here he bites at Cas' jaw, hard enough to sting a little in mild reprimand, "get to work whenever you feel like it. Real jobs suck."

"I had a real job once," Cas says. "I didn't like it." Dean huffs a disdaining laugh against his skin and mouths at Cas' chin, bites at his lower lip, then kisses him properly again.

They fit together well, Cas thinks. Slotted together, knee to shoulder, comfortable difference in height. And it's not just physical. Dean handles Cas' general weirdness well, and hasn't let the Novak clan scare him off, and- by far most important, in Cas' opinion- isn't freaking out over the whole gay thing, or even the possibility that the people who know him might find out.

It's been barely two weeks and he's already decided he could get used to this, he realizes. Cas sleeps with gorgeous jerks- like Balthazar, like Dean was supposed to be- because there's no emotional entanglement afterward. They aren't supposed to turn around after a couple romps in the sheets and reveal themselves to be decent guys. That's not how it works. Cas doesn't risk himself like that, _won't_ risk himself like that. He's learned his lesson in that regard.

He could fall in love with Dean Winchester, he thinks. And what scares him most is that that doesn't scare him at all.

The sound of water sizzling pulls Cas back to reality. He breaks away from Dean a little bit, looking over his shoulder.

"The spaghetti's boiling over," he says conversationally.

Dean jerks away with a curse, reaching carefully around the steaming pot to turn the heat down. Cas takes advantage of his distraction to slip in and sneak a taste of the sauce. He has no idea what homemade tomato sauce is supposed to taste like, since all of the sauce he's ever had came out of a jar, but he decides he likes it.

A second later he's being bodily pushed out of the kitchen. "Out," Dean orders, a bit redundantly since Cas is already on the threshold. "Out and stay out until I say you can come back." And he pushes Cas down onto the couch, where Lady is making confetti out of yet another dish towel, having learned very early on that she is not welcome in the kitchen when there are people in there.

Cas settles on the couch and turns to watch Dean, art in motion.

* * *

><p>They eat on the floor in front of the couch, since Lady's left slobber-soaked towel bits all over the couch cushions, and because the TV still doesn't have a stand and the sunlight reflects weirdly off its screen at certain angles. It's pretty good food, as far as Cas can tell. The meatballs are well done, perfectly spiced and tender enough to fall apart at a strong jab from a fork, which even Cas knows is a good sign for a meatball.<p>

"Dad's recipe," Dean says, caught between pride and something else, something that doesn't bear looking into, when Cas remarks on it. "He wasn't all that great in the kitchen, but he could grill anything, and he made awesome meatballs."

Cas considers this. He knows little of Dean's parents; his mother died when Dean was a child and Sam just a baby, and Dean both loved and feared John. How the Winchester boys had grown up, Cas has no idea. He just knows it wasn't a normal, quiet childhood.

"My father and I went fishing once," he says, the words slip-sliding out without his permission. "I caught something, I don't remember what. He showed me how to clean it and cook it." He doesn't like fish now, hadn't really back then, but the rare treasure of his father's full attention had made the whole thing worthwhile. Jackson Novak had had five children, and he had done his best to treat them all fairly, but Cas had been a quiet, shy little thing, and was always overshadowed by his older siblings. And he had been merely seven when Jackson had died; he had had the least time with his father, and his memories were the most distorted by his age and the passing of time.

It's barely half a story, but Dean understands loss, and the value of such perfectly preserved memories. He leaves Cas to his memories and flicks a piece of meatball at Lady, who has been parked at his feet and begging since he first sat down. Then he stands and moves past Cas, dumping his plate in the sink. By the time he turns around again Cas is behind him, close enough to smell the spices he'd been cooking with on his skin.

"Should we put a sock on the doorknob?" Dean asks.

"If you think that will stop him," Cas agrees, and pulls Dean towards the bedroom.

* * *

><p>He's in a weird mood tonight, all antsy and snappish, the melancholy he always associates with talking about his father joining forces with the unease from the emotional epiphany earlier, and Dean is hard-pressed to keep up.<p>

He bites and nips and sucks at vulnerable skin until Dean swears and pins him down and kisses him, hard, to keep his mouth busy. He squirms away from Dean's attempts to get his clothes off and lurks beside the bed. He needs something, something he has no words for, and Dean doesn't know him well enough yet to be able to provide it. Dean sits on the bed, half-naked and obviously annoyed, and Cas is thinking it might be better to just send him home.

"The hell is up with you?" Dean demands in irritation. Cas shakes his head and heads for the door.

He doesn't make it.

Dean is bigger than Cas, about two inches taller and maybe forty pounds of pure muscle heavier. Cas had thought nothing of it until Dean's solid weight was pressing him up against the doorframe, pinning him neatly in place. Cas could fight it- he's the youngest of five siblings, he knows all the dirty tricks in the book- but he accepts it instead, reveling in the firm strength behind him, the hand Dean has rested on the back of his neck, the feeling of Dean's breath stirring his hair and ghosting over his skin. He gently digs his thumb into the base of Cas' skull, drawing circles over the skin there, and Cas can't help but push back into the touch.

"What do you need, Cas?" Dean asks.

"I don't know," Cas says, honestly enough. He needs a good many things. He needs a car. He needs a TV stand. He needs to get Gabriel moved back into his own apartment. He needs Dean in his life, every day, and he needs Dean to leave and never come back.

"All right," Dean says easily enough, with the casual authority of someone who doesn't always understand himself either. "You figure it out, let me know. Meanwhile, it's your turn." And he brings up his free hand and slaps something against the doorframe above Cas' head. He opens one eye and sees the corner of a foil packet peeking out from under Dean's fingers.

He rolls his head back and looks at Dean, meeting that almost-hazel gaze out of the corner of his eye. "Have you ever done this before?" he asks mildly. As the experienced gay man in the room, it feels like his responsibility to ask.

"Nope." Dean lets the condom fall and gently, slowly, pushes away from Cas. "That's what I've got you for, right?"

Cas holds on to the doorframe and stays there a good long time after Dean's retreated. Then he picks up the condom and turns to face the bed.

* * *

><p>They put a ridiculous amount of prep into it.<p>

Actually, Cas does. Dean mostly just squirms and bucks and curses when Cas hesitates and bites his wrist to keep himself from begging. He manages to keep himself mostly composed until Cas has worked three fingers into him and finds his prostate, and after that, Cas can guarantee anyone in the store downstairs knows for sure what they're doing up here.

Cas leaves him almost delirious on the bed, pulling away only long enough to roll he condom on. When he slides into Dean, it's to no resistance save a long, bone-deep shudder.

He pauses for a second to admire the view, as it's one he seldom sees: Dean's back, the planes and valleys of golden skin, the long line of his spine, the wavering line of his sides as he breathes. He has a scar low on his back, left of his spine, and a slight furrow in the skin of his neck where the cord for the pendant he's always wearing has left its impression. He also has a subtle spray of freckles across his shoulders, only a shade or two off from his base skin tone, and Cas thinks he could spend hours counting them sometime.

Cas leans down across the body beneath him, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder.

"Thank you," he says, and he can't even begin to say for what.

"Anytime," Dean says, and then, "Are you gonna fuck me now, or was all that some giant tease- aahh_fuck_."

Cas buries his smile against Dean's hair and rocks back into him, then pushes himself back up and starts fucking Dean properly until the only thought left in his head is of the man beneath him.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I meant to have this up earlier, but I got distracted. My apologies. Blame the weather- eight friggin' inches of snow _in March_, what the hell, spring?- and The Hobbit coming out last Tuesday. Have I mentioned yet that Martin Freeman is a god? If not, I should have, because he is.

* * *

><p>Gabriel doesn't come home that night. He does text at two-oh-eight a.m.- <em>lov ths prtiez cas u need 2 get oot mor<em>, which Cas takes to mean he's out partying with the soon-to-be grads and will be home when the nice police officers come around and drop him off.

The damage is done, though, since Cas is awake now and not likely to get back to sleep. He slithers out of bed and grabs his jeans from the pile of discarded clothes and heads into the living room.

The blast of cold air from the freezer raises goosebumps all along the bare skin of his arms and torso but he ignores it, reaching past the frozen pizza and the mystery bottles that started appearing in there within hours of Gabriel's moving in and takes hold of a heavy foil-wrapped package and slides it out. He can't cook, but he can follow directions easily enough, and the nice folks at the bake sale had been kind enough to print out baking instructions on a half-sheet of stationary and attach it to the foil.

He's at his computer going over his latest set, Lady a warm comfortable weight against his ankles, when Dean comes out of the bedroom.

"Smells good," he says as he shuffles past Cas and into the kitchen. There's a pause and the sound of the oven light clicking, then, "Dude, you made _pie_?"

"I bought pie," Cas corrects. "Yesterday at the university. The culinary arts department has a bake sale every year during graduation week."

"Pie made by college students. Awesome." Dean moves around a little bit, then says almost suspiciously, "It's not apple."

"Blackberry." Cas clicks over to the next picture and frowns at the monitor. Normally Anna's hair is the showpiece of her pictures, a vivid wine-red spill of color against her pale skin and the flat monotone backdrops. This time the red seems less vivid and more garish, like a spray of blood arching across the picture. He frowns in annoyance and starts fiddling with the saturation, trying to dial down the red without losing what little color the rest of the picture has.

"Blackberry pie is a real thing?" Dean asks, a bit pointlessly. Cas leaves off with the saturation and puts the grayscale filter on instead and instantly knows he's got it.

"And cinnamon ice cream," he says. "I'm told they go well together."

"They didn't have something more normal?"

"I don't like apple pie," Cas explains calmly. "And you have never tried blackberry pie. We're both expanding our horizons."

A moment later he feels Dean's breath on his neck, the man himself close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. "I'm always up for pie," he says. "Is that Anna?"

Cas nods as he softens the lines a little bit and changes out the grayscale for sepia tone, leaving the picture golden and warm and fuzzy like lazy summer afternoon sunlight. He bites at his lower lip thoughtfully and goes back to grayscale but keeps the fuzziness. Anna is an old-fashioned sort of beautiful, and the black-and-white compliments her well.

"Do you do commercial stuff?" Dean asks.

"I used to," Cas says. "But I didn't like people telling me what to do."

"Yeah, who does." Dean lowers himself into a sort of awkward crouch beside Cas' chair. Lady starts wagging, whapping Cas' shin with her tail until he pushes her away and she scrambles to her feet and goes over to lean against Dean in contentment.

"I do commission work occasionally," Cas says. "Mostly gallery showings. Sometimes I do a roll for a drama student. They always want more pictures of themselves."

Dean huffs a laugh. "When's the next gallery showing?"

"Fall semester. The university does a showcase of the local talent and brings in the art students and the donors." He goes for the contacts, especially among the students, more than anything else, but he's picked up some hefty commissions and even sold a piece for six figures there before. The donors are rich people, after all, and the university plies them with alcohol at gatherings like that. Cas isn't too proud to take advantage of it.

The oven timer chimes and Dean grunts as he pulls himself up. Cas watches him go, then clicks out of the photo program and opens the folder containing all his favorite pictures to date. When Dean returns with two plates laden with steaming pie and rapidly melting ice cream, he gets up and pushes the chair over in silent invitation. It's something he's never done before, not for his family, not Balthazar, no one. Dean hesitates before sitting down, giving Cas a cautious look like he knows exactly what he's being offered.

The first picture is the first one he'd ever taken of Anna, back when she'd still been shy and nervous and a little bit terrified of him. She's still dressed in the shot, wearing a light jacket over a KU jersey and jeans because it had been October and the town had still been caught up in the fever of football season beginning. She's laughing, arms wrapped loosely around her middle and bent slightly forward, hair tucked back into a messy ponytail and escaping in tendrils. Cas doesn't even remember what he'd said to her, trying to get her to relax. He just remembers the laughter.

The next one is a football player, a man that dwarfs even Sam. He's wearing only the university colors splashed like war paint across his skin, his number done in thick red strokes in Roman numerals across his lower belly. He faces the camera shamelessly, neither showing off nor flinching away, and something about the grave dignity and simple pride in his eyes still makes Cas want to squirm in his seat.

They're not his best. Not by commercial standards. They're the ones he's never shown to anyone else before, not even the subject, because they mean something to _him_.

The blackberry pie is tart, not sticky-sweet like apple pie, and Cas decides he likes it. They eat in silence and watch the pictures scroll across the screen and say nothing.

Sometimes there are no words.

* * *

><p>The Friday night of graduation week finds Cas alone, with Dean doing a brotherly bonding thing with Sam and Gabriel- who has yet to return to his own apartment and shows no inclination of even trying- out somewhere presumably trying to learn how long it takes for him to consume his own weight in alcohol. Cas is bored out of his mind and aimless, unable to focus well enough to even watch TV, never mind do something as brain-active as working. He spends an hour on Amazon looking for a birthday present for Gabriel since that's less than a month away, and when he abruptly realizes he's somehow found his way into the specialized waffle iron section- the one he's currently looking at imprints Darth Vader's stern face into the waffle- he decides he's not actually accomplishing anything here and he may as well go out and get drunk.<p>

There's exactly three bars within acceptable walking distance of the loft. Cas locks Lady into the guest bedroom, so any damage she causes is both contained and inflicted upon Gabriel's stuff, and heads to the furthest one in the opposite direction of the college, hoping to avoid the biggest of the massive crushing crowds of people he knows will be there. It's a bar-and-grill place and a little more pricey than the average college student can afford on their ramen-and-beer food allowance.

Naturally Cas only has time enough to order one drink before someone finds him.

"Oh, hey!" a semi-familiar female voice calls, close to his ear but still only barely loud enough to hear over the ambient noise. Cas chugs the whiskey far faster than it deserves and turns on his heel- there's not nearly enough seats at the bar for this crowd- and finds himself looking down into a face he knows.

"Cas, right?" Jess asks.

Cas might have gotten away with denying it if he hadn't gone to that lunch with Rachel. As it is, though, Jess clearly remembers him now, and her question was less a confirmation of his identity and more a social nicety.

"Yes," he says, trying not to sigh. "Fancy meeting you here." His tone is dry as bone and more than slightly bitter. He doesn't want to deal with the family drama tonight, either his or the Winchester's. There's a reason he's trying to get drunk in the first place.

Jess, unfortunately, is a clever girl. She smiles brightly even as she narrows her eyes in warning. "It's not a big town," she says. "Especially if you avoid the college hangouts."

Cas turns away from her long enough to signal the bartender for another. By the time he turns back the crowd has forced Jess to close distance with him, almost leaning into him even as he leans back against the bar.

"Girl's night out?" he tries. Anna had explained the concept to him once, a night where a group of female friends will ditch their boyfriends-husbands-whatevers and hang out at a bar and ogle cute guys and flirt and drink shamelessly.

"Family night," she corrects. "Sam and Dean are at the table over there. I just came up here to get our drinks."

"Ah," Cas replies, not sure how to respond to that. He takes the whiskey from the bartender's hand and orders another before the man can escape.

"You should come over, say hi," Jess says. Cas looks up sharply at her.

"No, I don't want to intrude," he begins. He should have seen this coming.

"You're not intruding," she promises, already wrapping her hand around his wrist. "You're a welcome distraction. Those two can't be left alone long, and I'm too much on Sam's side."

"I-" Cas begins, and can't think of a thing to say. Normally this wouldn't matter, since general politeness tends to be fairly low on Cas' list of priorities, but Jess is inescapable. She's a petite little thing but she pulls him away from the bar with terrifying ease, only letting up long enough for him to finish off his second whiskey and take the third before he's being towed through the crowd.

"Look what I found," she announces as she presents him to the brothers Winchester. They both look up at him, surprise and recognition in varying degrees.

"Hey, Castiel," Sam says, and Cas can't help the tiny wince that's one part Sam's subtle mispronunciation of his name and two parts Sam using his full name.

"Cas," Dean says, and he definitely sounds a little frosty. Cas can't tell if that's from some sort of tension between him and Sam, or worry that Sam will learn about their relationship.

"Pull up a chair," Jess says, and then proceeds to do that for him, almost pushing him into it when he hesitates. He's now sitting at one side of the small square table, Dean to his left and Sam to his right, Jess taking up her seat across from him.

What follows immediately after is one of the more awkward silences Cas has ever sat through. He stares down at the table, memorizing the pattern in the wood grain, and feels the tension mount around him. He has enough brothers himself to recognize the feeling of an interrupted argument.

After a long moment, obviously realizing that this is going nowhere, Jess shifts her weight slightly. "I wanted to tell you thank you," she says. "You did a fantastic job with the wedding, so I looked you up online."

Cas looks up when she says that. She's not blushing, not squirming, looking him dead in the eye and not flinching. She's not bothered by his profession; she's just trying to reconcile it with the quiet, awkward, sarcastic man before her.

"My friend Sarah- you met her, at the wedding?- she and I were talking about it," she continues. Sam is sending her increasingly horrified glances and Dean is getting squirmy, shifting in his seat and glancing repeatedly over at the bar. "She works at an auction house in upstate New York. It's a family business," she adds, almost apologetically. "She said she'd love to have some of your stuff in, but she's afraid her father would take it out back and burn it."

Cas can feel his attention sharpening, his spine straightening, as he sits up in his chair and looks at her. This is business. Business, he knows.

"I can send her a sample of some of my less provocative work, if she would like," he offers.

"She would love that," Jess says.

Dean claps his empty glass down and clears his throat. "All right, that's awesome," he says. "I'm gonna go get our drinks now. Cas, you wanna…?"

Cas looks over at him and realizes that Dean had drank his whiskey, had taken the glass right out of his hand. And, from the looks of it, he didn't realize what he was doing as he did so. There's something warm and fond and almost gentle in his eyes as he offers escape, and Cas is halfway out of his chair when Sam speaks.

"Nah, Jess can help," he says.

Jess is only a second behind on the uptake. "Yeah," she says. "I was supposed to do that, sorry. I'll help." She gives Sam a confused look as she says it but stands and heads back to the bar. Dean spares Cas the tiniest helpless shrug and follows.

Cas looks over at Sam with real concern. He's half a decade Sam's elder, true, but Sam is considerably bigger. And there was nothing at all friendly in how he said _Jess can help_.

To his considerable surprise, Sam sighs and runs a hand over his face, then leans forward on his elbows and says, eyes all earnest and puppy-wide, "I'm really sorry about Dean."

"What?" Cas asks after a full thirty seconds.

"He's a jerk," Sam doesn't clarify.

"I- yes, he can be," Cas admits. "I had noticed." He pauses here, trying to find a way to say it's nothing he isn't used to, and even that it's part of Dean's appeal, and Cas himself has more than his fair share of royal jackass moments. But the words, usually his friends, fail him for once.

"He's not a bad guy," Sam says, since apparently he feels the needs to _defend_ his brother for some insane reason , and Cas can't help but wonder how they managed to get to this conversational point so quickly. Or at all, really. "He's just pissed over this whole thing with Lisa, and he always gets stupid when someone dumps him."

"Lisa being the ex?" Cas asks after a moment. It's not what he'd meant to say, but it's the first thing to fight its way past the blue Error screen his mind has become.

"Yeah. And, first impressions, you know?" Sam continues. "He loves that car, and he thought you messed with it, and even though you didn't, that's almost impossible to come back from."

If Sam were a little less earnest, a little less determined to shine the best light on his brother, he might take his eyes away from Cas' and look down enough to see the mark Dean had left on Cas' neck the previous day. It's practically a neon sign pressed into Cas' skin. If Sam looks and sees it, Cas can guarantee he won't be able to keep a straight face, and Sam will know. And a situation that is already awkward enough will ratchet up to eleven.

"But, on the other hand," Sam carries blithely on, unaware of how the other man has gone so still he almost isn't even breathing, "He's seeing someone new, according to Bobby, so that'll help."

Cas opens his mouth to say yes, I know, then shuts it again when he can't find the words to end this in a way that doesn't include total humiliation for someone. They've been over here, on their own, for all of ninety seconds, how the _hell_ did this get out of control so fast?

He has not had nearly enough whiskey to deal with this.

A moment later Jess is sliding around behind Sam and claiming her old seat. Cas looks over in relief as Dean pulls his chair out with his foot and a loud, put-upon sigh as he juggles two beers and a shot of whiskey.

"Here," he says as he sits, passing the whiskey over to Cas, and there's a brief moment where they touch, fingers brushing and lingering, and the corner of Dean's mouth pulls up just a little into a familiar smirk before he lets go and pulls away.

"Oh, my God," Sam says, sudden and loud and sounding very much like someone who has just realized they are a colossal idiot.

"What?" Dean asks instantly, his head whipping around and his whole body tensing like he expects to see someone coming up behind him with a very sharp knife and murder in their eyes.

"You-" Sam looks at Cas, then back at Dean. "You two-"

It clicks for Jess, then, and she laughs at her husband's graceless sputtering and puts a hand on his elbow.

"Congratulations," she says to Cas, leaning forward and holding out her martini. Cas spares Dean a lightning-fast glance and shrugs mentally and shifts forward to tap his glass against it in an ironic toast. "And good on you," she adds, and sits back in her chair with a very satisfied look in her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" a scandalized Sam demands of his brother. Dean frowns.

"What, you mean you didn't know?" he counters. "Then what the hell was that whole 'accept yourself no matter what' thing yesterday?"

"I was-" Sam begins, then stops and blows his breath out through his nose. Cas is beginning to see why these two have such troubles- they're polar opposites, and unlike Cas and his family, they haven't spent enough time together to figure out how they balance each other out. "I thought you were hiding your…" Sam starts again, then jerks an uncomfortable look over at Cas when he realizes he has no idea what label to tag him with. "Because you were afraid of what I'd think. I know," he says, as Dean opens his mouth in protest, "I know, you've never let it bother you before. In fact, I'm pretty sure you only went out with some of those girls because you knew it would bother me."

"He doesn't mean it like that," Dean says to Cas. Then he turns back to his brother. "So, what, you talking to me about emotional crap for an hour yesterday was your way of asking if I was seeing someone and wasn't telling you?"

"It was five minutes, Dean. Not an hour." Sam pauses for a moment, simmering in indignant righteousness. Then he adds, in a much quieter tone, "And yes."

"You couldn't just, I don't know, _ask_?" Dean shakes his head and huffs a laugh to himself. "And people call you the smart one."

"I am," Sam says, feathers well and truly ruffled by now. "I have a college degree and everything."

"So do I," Cas says, because he is the Sam of his family in this case. And, because Gabriel is the Dean of his family in this case, he feels compelled to add, "My brother calls me the family pornographer."

Sam snorts his beer up his nose.

"This is turning out great," Jess says as she's handing Sam a wad of tissues from her purse. "I don't know why you didn't want to come over here."

"I should really go," Cas begins.

"No," Sam says instantly, mostly recovered. "This is good. This is, like, a double date. Or something."

Cas looks down at his- now empty- glass.

"Want another?" Dean asks, already preparing to stand.

"Something stronger, please," Cas replies. "And in a bigger glass."

Dean claps a hand on his shoulder as he walks away, and Cas thinks this whole evening might not be such a bad idea after all.


End file.
